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HE WENT IN WITH HIS FIERCE LITTLE FACE DRAWN AND SET 
READY TO MEET SUDDEN DEATH, OR DEAL IT OUT. 






I 


Co-Kaj 

Q 

THE LIBRARY ®F 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

MAY 12 1903 

Copyright Entry 

jas~. 3. ><?c3 

CLASS ^ XXc. No ! 


Copyright, 1901, 1902, 1903 
By CUTCLIFFE HYNE 


Published March, 1903 
Reprinted in March 







CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. page. 

A Diplomatic Exchange 7 

CHAPTER II. 

The Carthaginian State Reserve 41 

CHAPTER III. 

The Tail-Shaft 72 

CHAPTER IV. 

Shanghaied 105 

CHAPTER Y. 

The Submarine Boat 132 

CHAPTER VI. 

The Battle of the Bees 161 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Frying-pan 189 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A Cup of Tea 218 

CHAPTER IX. 

The Command of the Sea 246 

CHAPTER X. 

An Exchange of Legs 274 

CHAPTER XI. 

Limited Free Trade 303 

CHAPTER XII. 

The Last Adventure of Captain Kettle 330 


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MORE ADVENTURES 


OF 

CAPTAIN KETTLE 

CAPTAIN KETTLE KC.B. 

CHAPTER I. 

A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 

The British Resident leaned forward in his long 
chair and tapped his empty glass with his cigarette 
case., “I can give you no official leave, sanction or 
encouragement ; so please understand that very 
clearly.” 

“I had grasped that much, sir ,” said Captain Ket- 
tle, “before you had got through with ten words 
of your story. But am I to understand that the 
Government authorities of the ” 

Again the Resident interrupted hurriedly. “We 
will name no names if you please, Captain. If, 
when it is absolutely necessary, you refer to the 
7 


8 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


people in question as the Other Power, I shall un- 
derstand you. I don’t suppose any one is eaves- 
dropping at the present moment, or naturally I 
should not be speaking at all. But one never can 
be certain about these things, and, if you please, Fd 
rather change the subject. Hang it, man,” he added 
petulantly, “you know what’s wanted: why make 
further palaver?” 

The little sailor stroked his red torpedo beard. 
“Yes, sir, I know what’s wanted well enough, and 
I’m always ready to do the British Government a 
good turn. I’ve a sincere affection for my country, 
and I’m sure the Government would be both sur- 
prised and gratified if they knew how many times 
I’ve stuck up for them already. But I can’t afford 
to go into this matter purely for philanthropy and 
patriotism. This guano island speculation that I’ve 
been telling you about has dealt me a very severe 
blow financially. The difficulties of landing were 
enough to make you cry. The place was a regular 
graveyard of reefs. With the ghost of a bit of swell 
running, no boat could live among them, however 
cleverly you handled her. There was no fraud 
about the island; the guano deposits there had a 
richness beyond belief; but all I could do on the 
steamboat was to sit still and smell those riches 
from a distance, and watch my grub and wages’ bills 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


9 


mount up. I composed a little poem, sir, on the 
subject, entitled 'So near, and yet so far.’ It struck 
me as both original and chaste. If you’d care to 
hear it, I have a copy in my pocket.” 

"No, no, another time, Captain,” said the Resi- 
dent hurriedly, and Captain Kettle sighed. "Of 
course I knew you were not exactly in luck’s way, or 
you wouldn’t have stepped ashore on the Red Sea 
bank at such a God- forsaken hole as this. I have 
even omitted to ask, you’ll observe, how you got 
separated from that steamer you chartered to work 
your guano deposits, and I may mention that over 
yonder at Aden they’re wild with curiosity on the 
subject.” 

The Resident nodded out across the veranda to 
where the Red Sea danced and glimmered like a 
sheet of burnished blue metal under the deluge of 
sunshine. "Very active people over there at Aden,” 
said the Resident meditatively, "and they’ve got a 
most annoying lot of gun-boats in harbor always 
ready to send round to make inquiries. Have a 
cigarette ?” 

"I thank you, sir, but I never use them.” 

"Stronger meat for you, eh? Well, if you pre- 
fer to stick to the cheroots, the box is beside you. 
You see I’m by no means harrying you. I’m sure 
I am very sorry for your misfortunes. Naturally 


10 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


you want to make as much out of this new thing 
that’s put in your way as possible, and all I can 
say is, that what loot you can get depends on your 
own ingenuity.” 

Kettle shook his head gloomily. “It’s very 
vague, sir, that. I’m sorry to be so pressing, but 
the fact is I’ve a wife and daughters to think about. 
They’re on a little farm at home, and you know 
what farming is. We’ve a mortgage on the stock, 
and I did look to that guano spec, to pay it off. 
Guano seems so poetically appropriate to assist farm- 
ing. But now that’s failed, I’ve got to provide the 
interest on that mortgage somehow, and the rent, or 
there’s my family turned adrift.” 

“Well, the job’s waiting for you.” 

“What you offer, sir, is so very vague.” 

The Resident shrugged his shoulders with some 
impatience. “It’s the best I can do. I can hand 
you a small sum of money to free you from your 
present embarrassments, and to start you off up- 
country, and after that I’m afraid I shall have to 
disown you officially and every other way. Even 
this small sum will have to come out of my private 
purse. And then there’s the risk. I suppose it is 
that which scares you, and, indeed, I don’t see why 
it should not.” 

The little sailor stiffened sharply out of his de- 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


11 


jection, and sat upright in the chair. “The risk, 
sir,” he said acidly, “you may leave out of the ques- 
tion. I’m the least easily frightened man on* earth 
when once I meet with opposition, either from black 
men, or from white.” 

“Then,” replied the Resident, with some dryness, 
“if the risk does not frighten you, and your needs 
are as great as you say, I should advise you to start 
off without further delay and get that loot. It’s 
there right enough.” 

“You’ve not said that in so many words before. 
Are you sure?” 

The Resident lowered his voice till it became al- 
most a whisper, and leaned across to Captain Ket- 
tle’s ear. “My agent saw the loads made tip. 
We’ve had our attention on the — er — the Other 
Power along this side of the Red Sea for some time, 
and have been watching them more narrowly than 
they’ve any idea of. They know to a certain ex- 
tent that we’ve been keeping a brotherly eye on them, 
because they tried to brazen it out. The Governor 
there wrote to me for permission for a trading 
party to pass through our Somaliland territory to 
trade and shoot in the interior beyond. I wrote 
back very politely that I could not give permission, 
as the district was too dangerous for travelers.” 

“But that’s not diplomacy, sir, is it ? It’s merely 


12 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


the truth. The Mad Mullah’s 'out’ just now, isn’t 
he, and the country’s alight?” 

The Resident chuckled. "Diplomacy isn’t neces- 
sarily all lies, Captain. Sometimes the truth is 
more convenient. It was no news to them about 
the Mad Mullah being 'out.’ The trading party 
were simply taking up arms for that person to use 
against us. See?” 

"Perfectly, sir. And so the Governor wrote 
back that you could go to blazes, and the expedi- 
tion would trade as it jolly well liked?” 

"Pooh!” said the Resident. "That’s not diplo- 
macy, my dear Captain. A letter like that might 
very well bring about war between England and — 
er — the Other Power at touchy times like these. 
No, the Governor wrote back most civilly, thanking 
me for my warning, and stating that he had refused 
the expedition his leave to start. But at the same 
time his polite Excellency gave that expedition a 
firm hint to start without leave, and away they 
went.” 

"Then I don’t see,” said Kettle doubtfully, 
"what’s wrong with your sending some of your own 
troops to cut them off. I’ve no very high opinion 
of soldier officers, as I’ve mentioned frequently ; but 
surely they are equal to a small job like that?” 

"Oh, the soldiers could snaffle them easily enough 


r A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


13 


if I chose, but if the beggars were caught officially, 
don’t you see, they’d think of their own skins first, 
and let on that his Excellency the Governor had 
sent them, and then — well, then there would be a 
row. Let me tell you, Captain, there’s enough fat 
in the fire already between Great Britain and — er — 
the Other Power, and I shouldn’t be thanked for 
dropping in the extra handful which might well set 
half the world in a blaze. Come, man, you must 
see which way the cat jumps now. It’s a case for 
nice diplomacy.” 

It was acting on these somewhat obscure hints 
and instructions, then, that Captain Owen Kettle 
found himself traversing a portion of British So- 
maliland, with the attendance of a party of forty- 
three armed natives. By daytime he had to evade 
the bands of the Mad Mullah, the local faction 
fights which are always set up in a disturbed coun- 
try, and incidentally to keep out of the way 
of those tiny armies of British native troops- which 
were doing their best to hammer the country into 
quietude again. 

By night, when the lions sang their lullabies, he 
had personally to attend to the fires and the thorn 
zareba, as no amount of hard handling and hard lan- 
guage would make his Mohammedan following 
careful in this direction. Their theory was that if 


14 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


it was written that lions should devour them, this 
would surely come to pass. Wherefore it was en- 
tirely useless to stay awake on sentry-go, unless per- 
chance they were encamped in the neighborhood of 
a hill of red ants. The which was consistent, of 
course, but irritating to a non-fatalist leader. How- 
ever, when it came to fighting, they showed up ar- 
tistically enough to satisfy even such a connoisseur 
as Captain Kettle. 

The country was, as I have said, in a state of 
considerable turmoil, and it was Kettle's object to 
thread his way as nicely as might be between the 
various centres of disturbance, so that he might ar- 
rive at his final destination with a force if possible 
undiminished. He had a constitutional distaste for 
avoiding a fight, but the needs of his wife and 
daughters at home were always at the back of his 
mind, and he did constant violence to his own ap- 
petites on their behalf. 

But there is a limit to the forbearance of all men, 
and Captain Kettle's was reached when one day, 
on topping a rise, he saw in a pleasant valley im- 
mediately beneath him, a battle displayed in full 
working order. A small force was holding a vil- 
lage of wattled huts, a larger force was attacking 
with savage ferocity, wounded writhed here and 
there, twisted dead dotted the ground, a field gun 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


15 


coughed spasmodically, a hut burned, and a daz- 
zling sun dished up the whole scene into the plain- 
est possible view. Even then he had it in him (re- 
membering those at home) to have retired quietly 
from the ridge. But a tall white man showed 
among those who defended the village, plainly lead- 
ing them, and as the attack pressed more ferociously, 
the white man showed more, exposing himself with 
the utmost of recklessness, and doing prodigies of 
valor to inspirit his desponding troops. 

That tall white man held Kettle’s admiration, and 
clogged his retreating feet, and presently, when it 
was plain the village would be rushed by overwhelm- 
ing numbers, the kinship of blood boiled within him 
so strong that the last taint of his prudence evapo- 
rated. 

To give them their due, his native following were 
willing always for warfare, and he had little trouble 
in hustling them to cover along the brink of the 
ridge, and when the word was given, they loosed 
off their fire as fast as their dusky fingers could slip 
cartridges into the Remingtons. 

The effect was sufficiently surprising. The at- 
tacking army in the valley below them halted in its 
advance, and began to make aimless little rushes to 
this side and to that. One of the panics so common 
to undisciplined troops had gripped them, soul and 


16 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


bones; and when one, more ingenious in his fright 
than the rest, hit upon a line of flight, they tailed 
in after him as fast as their toes could spurn the 
ground. 

The tall white man of the village with his own 
hands helped with the gun to bedeck their depar- 
ture, and he was engaged in firing a final shot, when 
Captain Kettle and his tail marched up to make his 
acquaintance. 

“I trust, sir,” said the little sailor, “that you will 
pardon my interference, but it struck me at the time 
I chipped in, that those beggars had about given 
you your bellyful.” 

“Don’t mention it,” said the tall man, laughing. 
“They’d have got us as sure as cooking if you hadn’t 
helped. They were some of the Mad Mullah’s crew, 
and regular devils for fighting. To tell the truth 
they’ve been chivvying us for three days, and have 
got all our truck, pretty nearly. It was all we could 
do to save this rotten little pop-gun here. Hayden’s 
my name, by the way. You don’t happen to have 
such a thing as a whiskey and soda among your 
loads, do you ?” 

“I’m traveling very light myself,” said Kettle 
evasively, “and the whiskey was forgot to be put in. 
I’m sorry. I should have liked very much to have 
drunk your health.” 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


17 


Hayden stared. “Oh,” he said, “I beg your par- 
don. I thought you were some swell come up here 
lion-shooting.” 

“I don’t know, sir,” said the little sailor with a 
flush, “that my personal status is any concern of 
yours.” 

“Of course it isn’t, not a bit. Please believe that 
I didn’t intend to be in the least rude. One’s been 
up-country here so long among natives that one’s 
forgotten how to speak ordinary civil English. 
Of course I’m infinitely obliged to you for saving 
me and some of Britain’s dusky forces from being 
wiped out. But you see, being in command of this 
district, one has to fill up official forms and things, 
and I’m just now wondering as to what you might 
be up here after.” 

“Then, sir, you may enter under the heading of 
‘occupation’ that I am ‘engaged on urgent private 
affairs.’ That’s true, and it’s diplomatic.” 

It was Hayden’s turn to blush now. “You make 
things very awkward for me. You have just put 
me under a tremendous obligation, and so I can’t 
possibly arrest you, which I rather believe it’s my 
duty to do.” 

“Oh,” said Kettle stiffly, “don’t let that stand in 
tlie way, sir. You may arrest me if you’re able; 
but I’ve been bidden to use diplomacy over my pres- 


18 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


ent errand, and I’m going to use it now or know 
the reason why. So I must bid you now good .af- 
ternoon.” 

The little sailor whistled his natives together, gave 
a direction to the headman, and set the caravan once 
more upon the march, himself waiting to act as rear 
guard. Hayden stood uncomfortably at his side, 
feeling to the full the embarrassment of the situa- 
tion. 

The long snaky line of the forty-three men, some 
with loads on their heads, all with rifles, at last got 
into swing, and Kettle fell in at their tail. “Good- 
by, sir,” he said, as he stepped off. 

“Good-by,” said Hayden, thinking hard. “Much 
obliged to you. Fall back on me if you get into 
trouble further on.” And with that he turned and 
set about giving orders for the burial of the dead 
and the tending of the wounded. But presently he 
made up his mind, and went to his fellow white 
man, who was doctor to the force. “Pat,” he said, 
“look here; that little chap with the red torpedo 
beard isn’t up here lion hunting, and he isn’t up here 
exploring. He can only have one possible game, it 
seems to me, and that’s mischief.” 

“Well, you can’t shoot him out of common de- 
cency, after pulling us out of the fire the way he 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 19 

“Quite so; but we can follow him up and spoil 
his game.” 

“Ye — es.” 

“We must He’s on the make; you can see it in 
his eye. There’s only one kind of commercial spec, 
that would pay in British Somaliland at the present 
moment, and that’s taking arms and cartridges to 
the Mullah. The old scoundrel’s got plenty of 
money, and he will pay handsomely if he’s ap- 
proached in the proper way.” 

“But the small chap hadn’t got the arms with 
him — or at least very few.” 

“Oh, that’s all right. The cargo couldn’t be 
shipped on our sea-board. That’ll come from the 
next territory, and he’ll rendezvous with it at a fixed 
spot, and come into touch with the Mullah on the 
road, and make arrangements about price and 
delivery. You have to go through these pre- 
liminaries when dealing with Mad Mullahs, or 
otherwise, if you are found personally convoy- 
ing the guns, they just shoot you, and collar 
the swag.” 

“Sweet lot.” 

“Aren’t they? Well, get your invalids into 
hammocks, and away we go on our friend’s trail. 
We’ll deal tenderly with him because he’s been nice 
to us — although to me personally he was most ob- 


20 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


jectionable. But we must upset his little game, be- 
cause that’s duty.” 

Here then was a surprising result yielded up by 
Captain Kettle’s attempt at diplomacy. A more ex- 
perienced officer might by tact have discovered more 
of the truth, or by induction have guessed at it. 
But Hayden was merely an ordinary militia subal- 
tern, with more adventurous spirit than brain, who 
was seconded from his regiment, and attached to a 
corps of native levies ; and up-country in Somaliland 
he had learned more about rough-and-tumble rely- 
on-y ourself fighting than about the exigencies of 
politics. That Kettle was in some way connected 
with arm-smuggling with the enemy he guessed quite 
correctly, but that the British Resident in one of the 
Coast towns could be the little sailor’s backer was 
quite beyond his conception. 

Captain Kettle on his part marched on with an 
equable mind. He had yielded to the impulse of 
saving a man of his own color; but he had not 
truckled to him in the least; and had preserved his 
own independence and respect. Moreover, though 
the opportunity lay open to him, he had not lied 
about his business. But at the same time he felt 
that he had concealed it entirely, and plumed him- 
self on his diplomatic skill in doing so. 

His onward progress was not unattended with 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


21 


casualties. Like many another commander before 
him, he carried no stores of provender. ITis im- 
pedimenta consisted of rifles and ammunition. And 
following the innumerable precedents of other mili- 
tary expeditions who for various reasons have had 
to travel light, he lived upon the country. Of course 
Somaliland is not England, or even the United 
States; but even Somaliland at times objects to the 
comparative stranger who comes to live upon it, 
and being a primitive country, is apt to translate its 
protests into active measures. 

There were times indeed when Kettle and his 
merry men had to retreat, and that hurriedly, with 
hunger gnawing at their belts, and despair sitting 
heavy upon their shoulders. There were other times 
also no less terrible, in the deserts, where they fought 
for the possession of some well, and were beaten off 
with swollen tongues and with leathern throats, to 
march on under the parching sun to the next water, 
or die by the way as seemed them best. 

The original forty-three dwindled in this process, 
but the numbers of the company were kept up by 
those rough-and-ready means which are native to 
these countries of low civilization. The sentiment 
of loyalty there means loyalty only to the master for 
the time being, and a prisoner made one day might 
very well be fighting bravely against his former 


22 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


friends on the next. As to the question of arms, 
that adjusted itself. The Remington rifle is com- 
mon currency in Eastern Soudan, Abyssinia and 
Somaliland. If a Remington was lost, the next 
new recruit used a spear or tree root, or whatever 
weapon offered till another Remington was recap- 
tured. Such are the resources of a self-supporting 
force when under the command of a leader of 
Kettle’s ingenuity. 

His final exploit of capturing the expedition with 
the smuggled arms was brought off with an ease 
that was almost laughable. From information 
picked up from the villages through which it had 
passed, they had been on its trail for some days, 
and finally, coming to the edge of a forest belt, 
espied it in a fortified camp in the middle of a small 
open plain. 

To storm and capture this by open assault was a 
feat impossible even for a man of such desperate 
reckless bravery as Captain Kettle, with so small a 
following behind him, although the following by 
this time, to give them their due, would have gone 
anywhere the little sailor led them. But inside the 
zareba in the plain were two hundred men at the 
very lowest computation, and although many of 
these were officially carriers, there were naturally 
plenty of weapons available, and the East African 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


23 


black is very adaptable in these cases. You may use 
him as a carrier for six days of the week, but this 
will make him act none the worse as a soldier on 
the seventh. 

Captain Kettle halted his men inside the rim of 
the forest, and then, to prevent straggling, marched 
them half a mile back to make their bivouac. He is- 
sued orders to the headman to see that no one gave 
the alarm, and the headman (when Kettle’s back was 
turned) translated this into a cheerful threat to 
crucify any one who made himself obnoxious in this 
way, head downward, over a slow fire. The which 
was quite in concord with the custom of the country 
and with all his friends’ views. 

So they set about their cooking quite unconcern- 
edly, and watched the small white man who had led 
them go off to reconnoiter, placidly convinced that 
when they had eaten he would invite them to a fight 
that would be fully worth their attention. As 
has been hinted before, the Mohammedan negro 
of East Africa enjoys active warfare rather 
more than does the fighting Hausa of the Western 
Soudan, which is rather more than the average 
athletic Englishman enjoys a cricket or a football 
match'. 

Captain Kettle walked back to the edge of the for- 
est growth, and taking his stand in the bush a yard 


24 : 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


off the path, where a fringe of orchids and creepers 
screened him from any possible watcher, set himself 
quietly to prospect the resources and defences of 
the party before him. 

The zareba, he noted with disgust, was an un- 
commonly strong one. They were out of the range 
of that country where the camel thorn grows, and 
at first sight he had concluded that the fence was 
one which could easily be pulled to pieces. But 
closer observation showed that it was built by one 
who took no superfluous chances. Its bushes were 
all of spiny, spiky wood, which would tear a bare 
skin like so much glass, and, moreover, these were 
woven together with no amateur architecture. A 
stream watered the camp, so starvation tactics could 
not tire it out. 

Kettle bit his teeth round the butt of a dead 
cheroot, and puzzled over the situation. What had 
to be done must be carried through quickly. It was 
no place or season for dilatory operations. That 
swiftly moving person, the Mad Mullah, was in the 
immediate neighborhood, and it was well known 
that he had a scent for munitions of war surpassed 
by no nose in Africa. 

Kettle stared at the encampment with the last 
of the afternoon sun, and stared on when the dark- 
ness of night had snapped down with its tropical 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


25 


suddenness. The lights of the cooking fires gave 
up the camp as a vivid picture. 

Gradually a scheme for its conquest unfolded it- 
self to him, and then by degrees all its details were 
thought out and perfected. He wished to take no 
risks, and so he hammered at his plan till absolutely 
no flaw showed itself, and then, and not before, did 
he go back to his own bivouac and issue orders. 

The men were well fed and rested, and ready for 
the work. The ghosts of the forests, which always 
parade and do their mischief in the darkness, were 
not there that evening, because Captain Kettle said 
they were not, and when the scheme was explained 
to them, the black men set about carrying it into 
execution with chuckling glee. 

It had occurred to Kettle that the stream which 
watered the camp in the plain was capable of manip- 
ulation. The forest which sheltered his bivouac 
lay on a furrowed hillside, and the stream ran here 
also. It had dug for itself a ravine, and by Kettle’s 
direction this cut was now being dammed. It was 
no common dam his followers built, either, but one 
more after the fashion of a sluice-gate, which at a 
given notice might be thrown bodily down. 

Below in the camp on the plain the stream dried 
up, but no one gave the phenomenon any special 
notice. Up in the woods men toiled through the 


2G 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


hot damp night, tearing down branches, carrying 
turf and bush for the building of the dam. And 
behind its embankment the water in the ravine gath- 
ered and formed a quiet lake. 

Three-quarters of the night through did this toil 
go on, and the negroes sniggered and gurgled in the 
darkness over their tragic joke; and then when a 
sufficiency of water had collected, and dawn threat- 
ened, Kettle led forty out toward the plain, and left 
the headman and two others to see to the breaking 
of the dam. 

Punctually to its time the deluge welled out, swirl- 
ing with its debris down the ravine, rushing through 
its old channel across the plain, and then brimming 
above the banks, and flooding the camp thigh deep, 
and sweeping the zareba hedge before it as though 
the stout interlaced bushes had been thistledown. 
The chilly surprise of it would have dampened the 
spirits of any troops; it daunted those inside the 
zareba beyond even Kettle’s highest expectations. 

When he and his company came splashing in be- 
hind the last wave of the destruction they had set 
loose, they met with no resistance. Not a rifle was 
fired against them, not a sword was lifted. There 
stood before them ranks of men dazed and dully sub- 
missive. If this sender of the waterspout wished to 
cut their throats, it was written that he did this 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


27 


thing; if he merely wished to take them into his own 
slavery, again, it was Allah’s will. There was but 
one Prophet, and every man’s fate was writ large 
upon his forehead. It was impious to deny the 
Prophet, or to struggle against decided fate. 

Kettle took steps to guard that there should be 
no reversal of this idea, by rounding up his pris- 
oners under guard, and carefully depriving them of 
all utensils of defence; and then he began a search 
for the white man in command, who was the subject 
of that Other Power, and about whom the Resident 
had specifically given him information and instruc- 
tions. 

Pie had already in his own mind formed an opin- 
ion that either this individual was down with fever, 
or else was no small piece of a coward, or otherwise 
he would have shown fight, or at least have tried 
to put spirit into his men. A green canvas tent that 
showed dimly in the thinning night seemed to point 
to the white man’s residence, and Kettle splashed 
toward it through the falling water, with a revolver 
muzzle against his shoulder in case of accidents. 

The flap of the tent was pinned over with a thorn. 
He pulled it rudely open and stepped inside, with 
weapon ready to drop into instant use. 

He went in with his fierce little face drawn and 
set, ready to meet sudden death or deal it out. A 


28 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


moment later he had rushed out of the tent blushing 
scarlet all over his body. 

The canvas house was dark when he stepped in- 
side, and at first he had seen nothing. He searched 
the gloom with his eyes, following them with a re- 
volver muzzle. Then a little feminine scream fell 
upon his drawn nerves like salt on a cut. There 
was a camp bed at one side of the tent, and on that 
a packing-case, and on that a chair, and on that 
again, with a head en papillote pressed against the 
roof, a pretty little lady dressed in an elaborate robe 
de nuit. 

“Pm sure I beg your pardon, ma’am,” gasped Ket- 
tle, and made his exit in the condition described. 

Here then was a complication. Here was a jape 
for fantastic fate to play against him. A man he 
could serve with any indignity the moment sug- 
gested; but a woman! He blushed afresh at the 
thought of his encounter. 

But as he cooled, the memory of his own women- 
kind at home and their needs came back to him and 
forced him to take action, however distasteful the 
situation might be to him. He could speak the lan- 
guage of the Other Power with inaccurate fluency. 
‘‘Inside the tent there?” he hailed. “Will you tell 
me who is in command of, this outfit?” 

“I am,” came the astonishing reply. 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


29 


“Are you alone in there ?” 

“Certainly, monsieur.’’ 

“Then I must ask you, madame, to refer me to 
your partner. Where shall I find him?” 

“I have no partner; the cowards were all afraid 
to come. I am here by myself.” 

Kettle cursed beneath his breath. “By James!” 
he murmured; “was ever any man in such a dirty 
fix ?” But the thing had to be faced. He continued 
doggedly : “Then, if there is no one else, I must see 
you. Please dress, madame, as soon as you are 
able.” 

“Is that abominable flood over ?” 

“Yes.” 

“If it had not been for the rainstorm and the flood 
you never would have got here. I would have 
fought you. G — r — r — r! Yes, I have taught my 
black creatures how to fight admirably ; but the water 
vanquished me, and Heaven sent the water. Yes, 
it is Heaven alone which has made me yield.” 

Kettle modestly let the credit rest at that; but he 
repeated his request for an interview. 

“In a minute, monsieur, when I have dressed. If 
you are in more hurry, you must come and 
help me find my clothes which I saved with diffi- 
culty, and which are in terrible confusion. Will 
you help?” 


30 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


Again the little sailor grew pink. “Oh, no hurry, 
madame. Get your things ship-shape in your own 
good time.” 

“Well, monsieur, I will be ready in one minute, 
then.” 

It was a long minute. Indeed, chronologically, it 
was fully one hour and a half before madame in the 
freshest of tropical apparel, and beautifully coiffured 
and complexioned, stepped out into a well-aired 
morning world. The camp had been swept and 
garnished, the zareba rebuilt, fresh fires lighted in 
place of those that were swamped, with prisoners 
and guards hobnobbing over the breakfast-pots. 

Madame's own body servant had been found and 
set to his usual employments, and Kettle presently 
saw himself sitting to a camp table under the shade 
of the tent-fly, and enjoying as chic a petit dejeuner 
as any man could wish for. 

“I thought we could discuss terms better over our 
coffee, ” said the lady. “I confess to you freely, that 
the wet and the dark daunted me horribly. But here 
in the sunlight” — she flicked her eyes at him — “I 
do not think you will be very cruel to me.” 

“I must do what I came for,” said Kettle, steeling 
himself. 

“Ah, you English officers, you have no thought 
except for duty. To you a poor lady's feelings are 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


31 


of no concern. You are an English officer, is that 
not so ?” 

“I have been given this job by the British authori- 
ties, said Kettle, feeling that here was a case for 
diplomacy. “But I am free to confess I did not ex- 
pect to find a lady in command of this expedition, 
or I would not have undertaken to raid it. Madame, 
you should not have come. It is no place for you up 
here. Whatever made you attempt it?” 

Madame shrugged delicately. It was triste at 
home. She wanted a new sensation. Since 
her dear husband died, there had been so little 
to amuse her. To meddle with international poli- 
tics seemed such a deliciously risky game. So chic. 
So new. 

“You may be very thankful I caught you up when 
I did. If you got into that Mullah’s dirty hands, 
you’d have regretted it once, and that for all the rest 
of your life.” 

“So they said at the coast, but I didn’t believe 
them. Monsieur my partner would not accompany 
me, so I came without him. It was so much more 
new to be alone. For a man there might have been 
danger, perhaps. For a lady, I do not think it. 
Monsieur the Mullah is a great general, and he will 
have his qualities like other men. I shall tell him 
that I am not British. When he hears that I have 


32 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


brought him up these arms, I figure to myself I shall 
have his admiration.” 

“If he were anything but a savage,” said Kettle 
gallantly, “you would have it in all abundance. But 
the Mullah is the Mullah. If you don’t know about 
his little ways, let me teh you some of the tales I 
have gathered about him as I came up-country.” 
And forthwith he reeled out a string of fantastic 
African horrors which any man may collect for him- 
self as he traverses that sultry land. 

The lady heard him without a shudder, fanning 
herself prettily. Really she had a most comely face, 
and her clothes and her hair became her amazingly. 
“But these poor Africans,” she kept repeating, “con- 
sider their unfortunate personal appearance and their 
habits. Monsieur cannot compare me to these Afri- 
cans. Nor would the Mullah.” 

“No, madame,” Kettle would assure her grimly. 
“The Mullah would put you in quite another class. 
But I don’t think you would like the result any the 
better for all that.” 

“It seems to me, monsieur, we are come to an 
impasse. May I hear what were your instructions 
with regard to me?” 

“Shoot you, and bag the arms.” 

“Plow concise! And if I had been a man, you 
would have carried it out?” 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


33 


“If. you had fought. If not, there is the tree.” 

The lady delivered herself of a pleasurable little 
sigh. “It seems that I am wading in waters more 
deep than I thought. Indeed, I had only reckoned 
on the Mullah. The flood — and the pleasure of mon- 
sieur’s society — were outside my calculation. Well, 
monsieur, I do not see how you could well hang me. 
If you would put my coffee cup upon the table ? My 
arm is short. It seems I am so dependent.” 

“Of course I can’t hang you; that’s out of the 
question now. But what to do I can’t see.” 

“It would be the truest gallantry if you could with- 
draw, and leave me to finish my journey, and test the 
chivalry of the Mullah.” 

“Out of the question, madame. And, besides, I 
take it you would have no wish to continue your 
journey without your cargo.” 

“Ah ? So ? It is the arms that attract you more 
than my poor self?” 

“Madame,” said Kettle simply, “those arms rep- 
resent my wages, and the pay for my men, and I can- 
not afford to go back without them. We will, if 
you please, end this conference now till I see my 
way to decide upon the disposal of such a lady as 
yourself.” 

Now in the meantime Hayden had been following 
up Captain Kettle and his company with remarkable 


34 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


closeness, and his advance scouts had even been in 
time to see Kettle’s headman and helpers knock down 
the dam which was used with such strategical effect. 
The scouts had the sense to drop down into cover, 
and return with their report without giving the 
alarm, and Hayden then made a further reconnais- 
sance. As a result, he lay over that day where he 
was, dug an earthwork for his gun with great quiet- 
ness during the ensuing night, at the edge of the 
open ground; and then when morning rose, pre- 
tended for the first time to discover that Kettle was 
in possession of the camp inside the zareba, and went 
forward in person effusively to greet him. 

“Why, my dear chap,” he said in return to the 
little sailor’s dry salutations, “here was I thinking 
I’d stumbled across a nest of the Mullah’s, or at any 
rate a nest of some joker who was smuggling in arms 
to that worthy man; and look, I’ve got all my ruf- 
fians nicely ambushed in the edge of the wood there 
ready to pour in a regular typhoon of lead, and my 
gun in an A i Woolwich emplacement. Dandy kind 
of trap for you, wasn’t it? Left Doctor Pat in 
charge, because I thought I recognized you here just 
at the last moment. Wouldn’t have inconvenienced 
you for worlds. I say, who is the lady ?” 

If Kettle had not met Hayden already and taken 
his measure, he would have put a pistol to his head 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


35 


and ordered him to draw back his gun and men un- 
der pain of having his brains blown out. But each 
was fully aware that he had a coolly desperate man 
to deal with, and owned also that the other knew the 
fact. Kettle quite understood that Hayden would 
not give in, and that if he shot him, Doctor Pat had 
his orders to open fire at once, and told himself also 
that when the shells began to fall among the am- 
munition cases, the zareba would be no place to 
live in. 

It did not take more than a breathing space to tot 
up all these points, and to decide that temporizing 
was the only alternative. Besides, there was to be 
faced the fact that he did not in the least know yet 
how to dispose of madame. So, by way of gaining 
further time for consideration, he introduced Hay- 
den to her with all the formal politeness he could 
muster, and presently was standing by amazed at the 
result. 

Himself he was a man immaculately neat in attire 
under whatever circumstances fortune might be 
using him, and he had all of a tidy man’s contempt 
for squalor in clothes. Hayden was a very scare- 
crow. Bandages served him for boots, his putties 
were frills of rag, his breeches and shirt were of a 
coarse native cloth, vilely tailored, coat he had none, 
his helmet was a mere sack of broken tinkling splinp 


36 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


ers of pith, and on his face there sprouted an un- 
kempt beard which had never known scissors. 

Madame, as has been noted above, was immaculate 
— a fashion block, as it were, in the desert. Oil and 
water, thought Kettle, could have no more chance of 
blending. But lo, in a minute, the pair of them had 
strolled off together on mutual invitation, and to look 
at them they might have had a year’s intimacy as the 
ground-work of their talk. The curse of Babel, in- 
deed, put many hindrances, one would have thought, 
on their interchange of ideas, as madame spoke but 
little English and Hayden had no other speech ; but 
the volapuk of the eyes more than made up the dif- 
ference. Kettle stared after them in their stroll with 
open-eyed amazement. “By James,” he told him- 
self, “the pair of them have gone and fallen in love 
with one another first bat-off, and that’s what’s the 
matter. By James, here’s a go!” 

It was truly an unlooked-for complication. In- 
deed, who would have thought that a British officer 
could possibly have an affair of this sort with a fe- 
male smuggler of another nation, whom, had she 
been of a different sex, he would have blithely 
hanged or shot on sight. However, the vagaries of 
Cupid are beyond calculation, and presently when 
Doctor Pat (who gathered that there was to be no 
war) strolled up, he, after a very short study, pro- 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


37 


nounced that it was “a case,” and volunteered that 
he never knew Hayden “to be one of that sort be- 
fore.” However, as he announced that if the lady 
hadn’t been taken up he should have gone for her 
himself, his opinion could hardly be looked upon 
as unprejudiced. 

The three of them that night, after madame had 
retired, held a council of war. 

“I’m thinking,” said Hayden, “that we’ve been 
out here on the warpath long enough. The Mullah 
seems quiet for the time being. We haven’t heard 
of the old blackguard cutting up anybody for over a 
week now. I think we’d better march down to the 
coast for orders.” 

“What about me?” asked Kettle. 

“Oh, you’ll come, too, I’m sure, won’t you?” 

There are some invitations which amount to com- 
mands. Captain Kettle wished there to be no doubt 
about his independence of action. “I should like 
to see any one in this section of Africa make me 
move where I didn’t intend going.” 

“Quite so,” said Hayden placidly. “But I’m be- 
ginning to fancy that you and I are after the same 
job, though we didn’t seem to tumble to it before. 
I’ve been talking to madame.” 

“I thought you were,” said the little sailor, where- 
upon the Irish doctor roared. 


ns 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


'Tat,” said his superior officer, with a crimson 
face, ‘Til wring your nasty little neck for you if 
you don’t shut up. Of course, it remains to be seen 
what is to become of the loot.” 

“Not at all,” said Kettle. “That’s mine. The Resi- 
dent offered it to me if I could lay hands upon it.” 

“I suppose he thought it was a man’s property,” 
said Hayden pointedly. 

“I’m not in the least responsible for his thoughts,” 
said Kettle with open truculence. “It’s those guns 
and those cartridges I came out here to get, and at 
present they’re mine both by promise and by right of 
capture. Sirs, both, I wish you good night.” 

In these minds, then, the party of them set off 
on the return march back to the coast, and a brighter 
and more charming companion than madame could 
not have been found within all the marches of Africa. 
Twice they had to fight their way, and the lady 
showed so gallant a front as to win even the appro- 
bation of that connoisseur of battle, Captain Owen 
Kettle. Hayden remained openly the devout lover, 
and as for Doctor Pat, he warned both of his male 
white companions, in plain Irish, that if they fell pro- 
fessionally under his hands he should speedily make a 
vacancy for himself. 

“We shan’t be able to get married yet awhile,” the 
lady said to Kettle, when they halted for their last 


A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 


39 


camp before reaching the coast. “Cecil says” — it 
appeared that Cecil was the Christian name of Hay- 
den — “that he has practically nothing beyond his 
pay. But I can’t grumble at that, because, of course 
if he had means, he would never have been seconded 
from his regiment to come out here, and then I 
should never have met him at all. So we must re- 
main engaged for a while till I can put together a 
little dot for myself.” 

“Then you have nothing, too, madame?” 

“Oh, dear no. All my remaining cash was sunk 
in those guns and cartridges — your guns, Captain. 
But don’t think I mind. You won them most fairly. 
And I have to thank you — and my petticoats — that 
I didn’t get hanged into the bargain.” 

Captain Kettle sighed. He was thinking of his 
wife and daughters at home. But even for them he 
had some niceness as to how he earned the money 
which was necessary for their support, and there 
were places where he had to draw the line. Appar- 
ently one such had occurred here. 

Next morning he was missing from the camp, and 
in his place was a letter addressed to the British 
Resident in the coast town which lay against the 
baking levels of the Red Sea below the hills. 

“Sir” it ran — “I carried out your instructions 




40 A DIPLOMATIC EXCHANGE. 

with full diplomatic carefulness. Your Mr. Mullah 
will not get those rides which I have annexed, as per 
verbal instructions. The Other Power has got its 
nose pulled. Had no opportunity to obliterate head 
of expedition as suggested, she proving to be a fe- 
male. She having arranged to marry your Mr. 
Hayden zvhen they get a small pile together, should 
be glad if you would tell her she may have rides, etc., 
from me as a present, I having looted them honestly 
as per your instructions. 

{e Sir, I have the honor to be 
“ Yours truly, 

“O. Kettle ( Master , retired). 

“H. E. the British Resident .” 


CHAPTER II. 


THE CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 

By what particular process North Africa ejected 
Captain Kettle on to her shores at Tunis, the pres- 
ent writer has never been able to discover. He ar- 
rived by the afternoon train from Kairouan, which, 
as usual, gasped in an hour behind scheduled time. 
He traveled in a third-class carriage, which is in it- 
self a finger mark to destitution in a European, and 
he was utterly divorced from luggage. 

He was neat, of course, and clean, but his white 
drill clothes bore the marks of many careful mend- 
ings, and though his white canvas shoes were care- 
fully pipeclayed, they were frayed in places even 
past his skillful repairing. But his fierce little eye 
was as bright as ever, and his red torpedo beard was 
trimmed to its usual miracle of smartness. 

He carried the appearance of a man newly re- 
turned from one of the Sahara caravan routes, 
where the day’s ration of food is one handful of 
dates, and the water is scarce, and bitter, and alka- 
line. His waist was bound by the broad sash worn 
by camel drivers. His face was browned by out- 
41 


42 CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 


rageous suns. He was never a man who carried 
much flesh, but just then he was thinner than ever, 
and it seemed easy to read that it was the desiccat- 
ing air of deserts which had left this mark upon him. 
But, as I say, that is only guesswork. Where he 
had been, what wild work he had been up to, are 
points carefully locked away, and no country is more 
competent than that part of North Africa between 
Lake Chad and the salt chotts south of Tunis to 
keep such secrets inviolate. 

The city was plainly foreign to him, and for the 
moment almost alarming. He stepped out of the 
station precincts and narrowly escaped being run 
down by a jangling tram-car; French seemed the 
only language on exchange; and though there were 
dark faces and Arab draperies here and there, they 
had no air of being native to the streets. Electric 
arc lamps grizzled and glared overhead ; and before 
the cafe affected by the soldier officers, a band 
played to an audience in uniform or rice-powder. 

It was summer time, and after the tourist season ; 
the crowds outside the cafes were almost entirely 
Latins; but there was one couple of sweating ship’s 
officers there representing Great Britain, and these 
spotted him as a fellow countryman, and stared at 
him curiously, though with hospitality plainly light- 
ing in their eyes. 


CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 43 


But Kettle was in no mood for companionship 
then. He thirsted for whiskey, for good Christian 
whiskey with soda water, and (if Allah was very 
kind) ice. He had the aching thirst of the desert 
in the back of his throat, and the lust for a good hard 
smoke at a black cigar consumed him. But in his 
present state these things could only be given in 
charity, and he was not a man to take favors from 
anybody. He earned, or, at a pinch, might take; 
he would never beg. 

He walked on to the French town, and passed 
through the Bab e Behira. A supercilious camel 
swung aside to give him passage. The smells of 
native Tunis came out warm and sour to greet him. 
He counted up the narrow streets which ran into 
the open space behind the gate like the sticks of a 
fan, picked out the one he wanted, and went along 
it at the increased pace of a man nearing a destina- 
tion after long travel. He went up and up the 
steep cobbled lanes among the varying smells, past 
droning native cafes, and at last walked under the 
dark lid of a closed, unlit bazaar. Here for a mo- 
ment he hesitated about his way, and asked a direc- 
tion from a fez-capped nigger boy. 

His knowledge of colloquial Arabic was enough 
to make an eye-glassed Frenchman who was passing 
turn and stare. 


44 CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 


“Espion 'Anglais ” this person muttered to him- 
self, and pulled at a ridiculous beard that sprouted 
from the two corners of his chin. “The man’s a 
Touareg he’s asking for. Why should he want to 
meet with a Touareg here in Tunis? Espion An- 
glais! I will give information.” 

Now the eye-glassed man happened to be a jour- 
nalist, and here was copy au moins, a scarce com- 
modity in that hot, limp colony of Tunis. One 
would have thought that the English spy scare was 
a trifle overdone in North Africa, but at least it 
must be admitted that the journalist knew his busi- 
ness in a certain degree — seeing that he drew a live- 
lihood from it. And anyway newspapers must be 
filled, and hard fact runs short sometimes, as even 
London and New York will admit. 

Captain Kettle, however, went on his way through 
the narrow alleys unconscious of the attention he 
had received. He got out of these at length, and 
came upon a white dusty road leading toward the 
hospital and the outer walls, and lit bright by a 
luxurious African moon. Again it was evident that 
he guided himself by minute directions, well in- 
stilled. He wound unhesitatingly along his way, 
and presently stopped with confidence before a 
house. 

According to Western ideas it was not an hos- 


CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 45 


pitable looking place. It presented to the passer-by 
a broad white slab of wall, level topped, and broken 
only by a door, which was small, low, and iron stud- 
ded, after the style of a mediaeval castle. Kettle 
rapped upon it smartly with his knuckles, and, when 
this brought no response, set to pounding with the 
side of his shut fist. The house inside reverberated 
like a muffled drum. A man came presently to that 
summons, and after some scrapings of bolts the 
door swung inward. The man stood out in the 
moonlight, a dandified figure in red fez and mouse- 
colored haik, and the first words he had ready for 
his lips were clearly not those of civility. But at the 
sight of a European--and such a truculent looking 
little European — he kept these back. ‘‘What does 
monsieur want?” he asked. “It is late for monsieur 
to be in this part of the city.” 

“Are you Mohammed Shabash?” 

“I am sometimes called by that name.” 

“Then I have a message for you from your 
brother.” 

“Monsieur must have mistaken the name, or the 
house. I have no brother that monsieur can have 
met.” 

“Grant me patience ! Do you think I’ve come all 
this way, and found the house, and found you, with- 
out knowing what I was about? Ali Akkerim is 


46 CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 


your brother’s name, and I suppose you don’t want 
me to shout it for all the street to hear? No? 
Then, by James, don’t you keep me standing here 
like a cat on a doorstep any longer.” 

Kettle stepped inside, and the iron-knobbed door 
swung into place behind him, and was once more 
securely barred. The inside of the house was full 
of close heat, and the air was loaded with the heavy 
sweetness of attars. The house also gave up from 
its unseen recesses the silky rustle of garments ; but 
Kettle affected to be deaf to these; he was well in- 
structed in Moslem domestic etiquette by this time. 

Mohammed led into the small cloistered court- 
yard at the back, in which was the usual orange 
tree hung with yellow fruit. There was a divan 
there in the moonlight under one of the arches, 
and Kettle noted as he stripped off his shoes, and sat 
among the cushions, that it was still warm from the 
impress of former occupants. He had evidently 
disturbed Mohammed Shabash from an evening’s 
dalliance in the bosom of his family. 

A low table in front of the divan held a jug of 
tepid syrup and a dish of cloying sweetmeats. 
“Will you be satisfied?” said Mohammed Shabash 
with the usual formal hospitality. 

“Thank you,” said Kettle. “I’ve got a regular 
rasping hunger on me, and dessert will do for dun- 


CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESER\ T E. 47 


nage. But I wish Ed looked in before you sent 
away the joint. Where I come from lately they’ve 
got slim notions of what’s a grown man’s meal, and 
when you and I make our pile, my buck, out of what 
I’ve got to tell you, one of the first things I do after 
cabling home some cash to the Missis and the girls, 
is to have a skinful of solid beef and ale.” 

The master of the house stifled a yawn. “So you 
have been out there in the desert, have you, with 
the Touareg? They are savage peoples there. I 
have no interest for them!” 

“You were born a Touareg, anyway.” 

“It cannot be denied. But fortunately I was 
taken in a razzia when a child, and brought here as 
an employe.” 

“As a slave, Ali said.” 

“The same thing. My master was an embroid- 
erer, and I was brought up in the Souk e Sevadjin. 
I was lucky. My master had no sons, and in time 
the business came to me. I am enlightened. I have 
been to your Earl’s Court for an exhibit, and also 
in Chicago. Oh, I am quite up to date. I do not 
work now. Others work for me, and in the tourist 
season I import embroideries direct from Hamburg 
and Bradford. Then I fray out a little thread here, 
dash in a little stain there, and you have the genuine 
antique which the tourists demand,” 


48 CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 


“I know the style.” 

“Then you must see, mister, how much you dam- 
age me by calling me a Touareg. I am no dam’ 
savage. I am mos’ civilize.” 

“You seem a queer nut anyway. You'd make 
that swashbuckling old Ali lift his eyebrows. But 
I don’t like you any the worse for being a business 
man. It’s a rare soft thing Ali and I are putting 
you on to, but it will cost a bit of think if we’re go- 
ing to pick out the plums for ourselves, and not 
have some French officials stepping in to find pen- 
sions that will take them home again. I say, did 
they keep this flat ginger pop on tap for you at 
Earl’s Court?” 

“No, mister. Whiskey soda. You like some? 
Of course.” Mohammed Shabash clapped his hands 
and called out an order in his own tongue. 

Kettle interposed hurriedly. “Excuse me, Mo- 
hammed, but don’t bring out the ladies on my ac- 
count. I am not asking you to do that amount of 
violence to your religious persuasion. A good 
square drink of the forbidden liquid will be quite 
enough.” 

“Oh, it is nothing. I am not prejudice. T am 
quite civilize. I will show you my women. I show 
them to the tourist on the quiet since my return 
from Chicago, and for money, you understand. 


CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 49 


But to you I will show them for nix. And I will 
join you in the whiskey and syphon. I drink it 
frequent. It is only accident you find that pigwash 
there instead. But we will not send it away. It 
will do for the women. I have fine women, fat and 
pleasant. You will not think of me as once a poor 
savage Touareg when you see my women.” 

“Well,” said Kettle, “just as you like. I’m al- 
ways ready to do the sociable when required. I see 
you’ve got an accordion down there. That’s my 
favorite instrument, and there’s many say that I’m 
no fool of a performer.” 

“I am most gratify.” 

“But I can’t sing on an empty stomach. Did you 
say supper was coming on soon?” 

“I will see what we can get, and I feel sure you 
will then play to us dance music, and my new wife 
shall step for us.” 

“I will even play for you dance music,” said Ket- 
tle, with a sigh, “though, for reasons you would not 
appreciate, those tunes are very repugnant to me.” 

“What reasons? I like to learn.” 

“I am a stanch member of the Wharfedale Particu- 
lar Methodists, and in a way was their founder, and 
we look upon dancing as only one degree short of 
blasphemy. Come now, Mohammed, you are evi- 
dently not much up on the Prophet just now. What 


50 CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 


do you say if you join our community? I could let 
you have all the points where we differ in a couple 
of days.” 

But if Mohammed was a lax follower of his own 
creed, he was not taking any conversion just then, 
however civilized such a performance might be, and 
he said so with a shudder, and some unnecessary 
warmth. It is probable that Captain Kettle would 
have flared up at having his offer on so tender a mat- 
ter flung in his teeth ; but at that precise moment a 
flabby eunuch brought in a row of old kybobs on a 
skewer, and Kettle was only mortal. He took the 
meat and held his tongue. To tell the truth the lit- 
tle sailor was near upon starving. Meat he had not 
touched for a month, and for the previous thirty 
hours not even so much as a date had come to his 
lips. 

With these cold grilled lumps of mutton, however, 
inside him, and with a second good stiff whiskey 
and soda to keep them company, he was a different 
man. Three giggling, portly Tunisian women 
slopped in, with their toes tucked into varnished blue 
patent leather slippers four sizes too small for them, 
and two of them slouched on to the divan. The 
third stood before them panting expectantly. Cap- 
tain Kettle, with a smothered groan, broke off from 
the hymn tune he was playing with such pleasant 


CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 51 


reminiscence, and squeezed out a profane jig with the 
full force of his instrument. He keenly felt the 
degradation of having to play such music for such 
an audience; but the needs of those at home held 
him by the heartstrings, and all depended on keeping 
this queer Mohammed Shabash in a reasonable 
temper. 

The stout lady shuffled her absurd slippers, and 
swayed her body without any reference at all to the 
music, and her adoring husband was openly proud 
and delighted at her performance. The moonbeams 
threw a shadow of the dancer which wriggled like 
a grotesque toad on the flagstones of the court- 
yard. 

But exhaustion and the climate at length stopped 
the performance, and presently at a sign from their 
lord the ladies withdrew. Then Captain Kettle 
thought that the time had come to broach his busi- 
ness. “You have heard/’ he said, “of the treasury 
of Carthage?” 

“Who has not? It has been looked for these five 
thousand years. First by the Romans, then by the 
Arabs and the other conquerors, now by these 
French. The French say they dig for archaeology; 
but it is not; they are hunting for treasury also. 
Still, there is no result. I do not believe there ever 
was a treasury ; or if there was, it was emptied long 


52 CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 


before. I tell you I believe very little, mister. I 
am very civilize.” 

“Don’t you be too knowing. Your brother Ali 
has learnt for an absolute fact that the thing was 
there. One of his mullahs found a whole account 
of it written out on some adobe bricks among one of 
those musty old ruins that lie peppered about the 
back country there.” 

“But still it may have been emptied. And, be- 
sides, who is to say where it is ?” 

“You don’t seem very keen on putting together a 
pile in spite of your civilization. I’ve got a sketch 
plan here in my pocket. Three days’ labor will 
prove whether the place is full or empty.” 

Mohammed Shabash stretched out his thin yellow 
fingers. “Mister, let me see.” 

Captain Kettle winked a knowing eye. “Better 
know where we stand first, my buck. This isn’t all 
your pie. I’ve got a finger in it, and when my fin- 
ger’s in a pie, a large slice of it’s got to be mine, 
or somebody will buy trouble.” 

Mohammed Shabash burst out into a querulous 
whine. “I declare to Allah I am a poor man. I 
demand that you give to me that which was sent 
by my brother Ali, my dear brother who lives free 
in the beyond, the only brother I have got.” 

“H’m ! You weren’t very up on the relationship 


CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 53 


five minutes ago. But there’s no use trying that 
game on with me. Ali doesn’t value you to the ex- 
tent of a date stone. He told me so. He’s sent 
you messages, and you’ve ignored them every time. 
He’s not the man to forget a trifle like that. He 
gave me free leave to make use of you, or ignore 
you, exactly as I pleased, and I just come to you as 
being the only capitalist here in Tunis that I’ve got 
the name of. For myself,” the little man added 
simply, “I’ve got my pockets full of fists just now, 
and it was a case of share or starve.” 

“How much do you want for your share ? I will 
allow ten per cent.” 

“I will take just one-half, my buck embroiderer, 
on the one condition that you finance me through till 
we either grab the treasury, or make up our minds 
it isn’t there.” 

Mohammed Shabash squatted back on his heels 
and raised a storm of expostulation. He was one of 
the smartest salesmen in the Souk e Sevadjin, and 
it stood to his honor not to accept an offer without 
haggling for a better bargain. But Captain Kettle 
sat placidly among the cushions of the divan and 
smoked without an attempt to abate his terms. “It’s 
no use you trying your bazaar games on me,” he 
said finally. “I know you aren’t half ruined, and 
I’ve seen for myself that your family is in no im- 


54 CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 

mediate danger of starvation. My folks are, and 
they’re the people I think of first. But blow off 
your steam if you find it a comfort.” 

It was late that night before the Touareg-Tuni- 
sian finally agreed to terms, and when Kettle said 
his prayers before turning in on the sleeping-mat, 
he gave thanks for victory over the infidel, and put 
up a petition for his subsequent conversion. “I 
prevailed over Ali, O Lord, to hear me at least with 
patience, and Ali has a hundred times more man in 
him to the square inch. Grant therefore, O Lord, 
that I gather this thing also into the fold.” 

But in the morning an unexpected trouble aro.se. 
Mohammed Shabash returned from the street of the 
embroiderers in a state of combined fury and fright. 
“What is this you have done to me?” he cried, with 
a gesture. “They say you are an English spy. The 
papers are full of it. They say you were inquiring 
last night in the Souk el Attarin for some one who 
was a Touareg, though in Allah’s mercy the fools 
have not caught the name. Soldiers are in the ba- 
zaars asking who are Touaregs that the houses of all 
of them may be searched.” 

“Pff! Spy be hanged. I am no spy.” 

“That is no argument. They say you are: that 
is where the trouble lies. And if you are found 
here, there will be suspect for me.” 


CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 55 


“By James! if any of their silly red-legged sol- 
diers come messing around me there will be trouble. 
By James, Mohammed, do they think because I’m 
new in from the back country I haven’t got a gun? 
Why standing here in this half-window across the 
courtyard, even if they do smash in the door, I could 
drop every son of a dog that tries a rush before he 
gets through the archway. Don’t you be afraid, 
my buck; your house shan’t be raided while I’m 
in it.” 

Mohammed Shabash wrung his hands and danced 
in his absurd slippers. “You must not. It is 
strickly forbid to shoot or otherwise impede the sol- 
diers. Besides, I am mos’ civilize. I cannot afford 
to have my business disturbed by an emeute.” 

“Then do you call off your red-legged piou- 
pious.” 

“I cannot. You do not understand. There is 
great excitement always about spies. The Govern- 
ment approves. It promotes loyalty. Look, mister. 
I give you two choices; either you must go from 
my house and surrender, or you must go to my hide 
place. There is hurry to decide; they will be here 
presently in search.” 

The little sailor strongly objected to being har- 
ried by the officials of foreign Powers, and so it was 
considerably against his will he consented to seek 


56 CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 


seclusion; but Mohammed in his ecstasy of fright 
swore that if he resisted further, the whole story of 
the Carthaginian hoard should be made public. So 
the well-bucket in the courtyard was lowered a 
couple of yards and made fast ; Kettle slid down to 
it by the rope, passing with difficulty through the 
upper aperture ; but once under the coping-stone saw 
an opening in the wall, which, with a vigorous 
swing, he managed to reach. Here were sundry 
illicit stores, and among them he took his seat. 

Once free of him the well-bucket whirred down 
the shaft and plunged into the water at its foot, and 
not five minutes afterward the genuineness of the 
scare was guaranteed very plainly. Rifle butts 
pounded against the iron-studded door in the white- 
washed wall, and when it was obsequiously opened, 
in rushed a squad of soldiery who spread about the 
house with ruthless industry. 

With them was an eye-glassed French journalist 
with an absurd beard, busily taking notes. With 
them also was Mohammed Shabash, wailing at the 
damage done in one breath, cursing at the indignity 
shown to his women in the next, and at the end of 
each bar, blatantly protesting his unshakable loyalty 
to the mighty Government of France. And under- 
neath in his dusty niche was Captain Owen Kettle 
fingering a revolver, and viciously wishing he could 


CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 57 


come across the individual who had arranged all this 
upheaval for his benefit. 

But once the authorities had gone, there at the 
well-mouth appeared Mohammed Shabash as an 
eager ally. “Come up, mister. They have gone 
and will return no more. You are English, and the 
English I do not like. But I hate the French. I 
wish you were spy.” 

“If you hint at that again, my buck, I’ll wring 
your dusky neck.” 

“I do not care. You are English, and I wish to 
give pain to French. There has come to my hand 
a plan of the Bizerta fortifications and all the can- 
nons. I will give it to you, and so revenge will 
come to me, and my honor will be save.” 

“Anything to oblige,” said the little sailor; 
“hand ’em over. But now let’s get to business 
again.” 

By what devious methods Captain Owen Kettle 
was smuggled out of the city of Tunis and lodged 
in the stable of a well-camel at Marsa need not be 
here recounted in detail, as many excellent people 
in the bazaars would be thereby implicated. The 
spy craze was still running cheerily ; in military cir- 
cles there was abundant activity; and the journalist 
with the ridiculous beard had made himself so con- 
spicuous, that a full description of his person had 


58 CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 


come to Captain Kettle, which that peppery little 
man had stored for future reference. 

A night expedition from La Marsa up to the hill 
beside Cardinal Lavigerie’s ugly white stucco cathe- 
dral came to Kettle as a surprise. He had expected 
to look down on the ruins of a vast city, bristling 
with walls and populous with broken columns. Al- 
geria and Tunisia are thick with these, and there 
are many in the deserts beyond. But when instead 
his eye met ploughed fields and barren headlands he 
thought of the intricate plan in his pocket, and felt 
the taste of something very much like defeat. 

But he was no man to accept a reverse from the 
first blow. He made his way down the steep hill- 
sides and found that the clear African moonlight 
from above had not shown him everything. Here 
and there were pits dug in the ground or 
galleries driven into the slopes. He explored one 
and got an idea; explored a couple more and es- 
tablished a certainty. 

Carthage still existed underground, and out of 
sight of the sun. Carthage had been partly tapped 
by latter-day archaeologists, and probably mapped by 
them. When he came to think of it, this would be 
within Ali AkkerinTs knowledge, seeing that that 
worthy brigand had received his reports from the 
place quite recently. The only trouble was, had the 


CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 50 


treasure been disturbed and carried away surrep- 
titiously? That could only be found out by ex- 
periment. 

He returned to Marsa, sent word of his need to 
Mohammed Shabash, and in a week had a copy of 
the French archaeologists’ charts of the ancient 
Phoenician and Roman cities of Carthage. The 
charts had been difficult to procure; the spy mania 
still buzzed ; and Captain Kettle was prayed to ob- 
serve the most exquisite caution. 

He pored over the plans, and soon found the 
points he wished for. The sketch of Ali Akkerim 
tallied in every particular. It was a great feather 
in the cap of the French archaeologists — if only they 
could have known. Then, armed with pick and 
shovel, with provender and wine for a week, he set 
off one night to commence work. 

The moon had worn itself out, and the night was 
conveniently dark; and Captain Kettle stepped out 
upon his way, with an elated feeling that fortune 
was near to him. He had visions of chests of gems, 
of great stacks of gold and silver built up in portly 
crossbars ; and always behind them he pictured Mrs. 
Kettle and her daughters, dressed in silks of the 
finest, and being looked up to as people of fortune 
by all the chapel circle. 

He went up over the hill past the Roman amphi- 


60 CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 


theatre, and down the steep slopes of the other side. 
He hit the road, and held along it for some time. 
Then, after finding his marks, he struck off toward 
the seaward side, and presently stepped down the 
inclined way which led to some abandoned excava- 
tions. Fortune and the French had been kind to 
him. Modern diggers had burrowed underground 
close to this very treasury ; they had created a whole 
labyrinth of tunnelings; but by some marvelous 
luck they had halted conveniently short of the prize. 

In the meanwhile M. Max Camille, journalist, of 
the city of Tunis, was a man with vanishing credit. 
He had cried Espion Anglais! and had received 
much pleasant applause; several quite unlikely peo- 
ple had been arrested, and certain troops of the Re- 
public saw more of the vie intime of native Tunis 
than falls to their general lot. On a very slender 
foundation of fact, M. Max Camille had built a very 
considerable superstructure round the person and the 
projects of this spy, and, having some acquaintance 
with another of the arts, had knocked off a very 
creditable sketch of the little Englishman, which was 
duly reproduced in his paper. But when after 
abundant search this same pernicious person was not 
forthcoming, and no one in Tunis in the least rec- 
ollected to have seen him, then certain officers, under 
the irritation of Tunisian summer heat, called M. 


CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 61 


Camille not journalist, but liar, with the usual 
consequences. 

A couple of harmless but soothing duels cleared 
the air somewhat. But in spite of his ridiculous 
beard M. Max Camille was no fool. He saw that 
his journalistic credit was ragged. It galled him 
to remember that he had been a fruit sec at home, 
and he was determined to mend matters, if energy 
could do that same. The fierce looking little Eng- 
lishman had been in the Souk el Attarin, there was 
no doubt about that ; and though his business as spy 
had only been guessed at in the first instance, this 
disappearance, in M. Camille's mind, went far to- 
ward proving it. All train and steamer exits had 
been watched. The man could not have got far 
away. It remained then to find this English spy, 
and cover himself with glory. 

Money for bribes 'he had not got, but a North 
African journalist is not over scrupulous, and M. 
Camille had ways of putting the screw on some of 
the denizens of the bazaars which would not look 
well if bluntly set forth on paper. In two days he 
materialized Kettle into something more solid than 
a rumor. On the third day he learned that the man 
had gone to Marsa. On the fourth day he ran him 
to earth in the reeking camel stable aforesaid. 

M. Camille said nothing about his find. He had 


G2 CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 


been accused of turning up a mare’s nest once. This 
time he would catch his man red-handed in his es- 
pionage before capturing and exposing him. The 
camel (of the stable) was employed during day 
hours in rotating a water- whim on an adjacent 
housetop, and in this dwelling M. Max Camille 
found quarters. He watched all Captain Kettle’s 
movements with a jealous eye, and when under 
cover of night the little sailor went abroad, the jour- 
nalist with stealthy footsteps and handy weapon 
invariably followed him. 

He could not quite make out why this spy should 
make for the site of vanished Carthage. No fortifi- 
cations lay thereabouts. But because the thing was 
not understandable, that did not make it any the 
less suspicious, and M. Camille followed with an 
eager mind, and figured to himself Max Camille, 
the journalist, driving before him at pistol’s mouth 
this accursed British spy whom all the troops of 
Tunis had failed to capture. It was a luscious 
picture. 

Arrived then that last night of Kettle’s stay in 
Marsa, when he took spade, pick and stores, and 
made for the burrow. M. Camille followed faith- 
fully in the shadow behind. The Englishman 
walked quickly, treading the way with the assured 
gait of one who has very definite notions about his 


CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 63 


destination. He entered the mouth of one of the 
excavations, halted a moment inside to light a can- 
dle, and then held confidently on. 

There were no superfluous tremors about M. Ca- 
mille. He pulled a revolver from his pocket, held 
it ready, and stepped on softly in the other’s wake. 

The galleries twisted and turned; climbed up and 
then down; and grew high or crouched low with 
maddening uncertainty. The light of the candle 
ahead waxed and waned. The stuffy heat of the 
place was enough to choke one. But on and on the 
leader held his way, and with grim persistency M. 
Camille followed. 

Then of a sudden, what was that? The candle 
stood by itself on the floor. He held ready his 
weapon. How could this perfidious 

A strong grip seized him by the collar, and a ring 
of cold metal was rammed into the back of his head. 
A voice said in French : “Drop that gun, you sacred 
pig, or I’ll blow your back hair out through your 
whiskers !” 

It is scarcely to M. Max Camille’s discredit that 
he threw down his weapon as though it burned him. 
There is something very persuasive in a revolver 
muzzle suddenly screwed into the nape of one’s neck 
by a man with such a commanding voice as Captain 
Kettle’s. 


64 CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 


“Now march to the other side of that candle, and 
turn round to let’s have a look at you. See you 
don’t knock over the light, or I’ll put some lead in 
you just as- a safeguard.” 

M. Camille did as he was bidden. 

“By James, the man with eyeglasses and the 
ridiculous beard. So it was you, you figure 
of fun, that set this spy-hunt on my heels, eh? 
Answer me.” 

M. Camille saw no reason to accuse himself un- 
justly. “I met monsieur in the Souk el Attarin, and 
monsieur asked to be directed to the house of a 
Touareg, surely a suspicious request in Tunis, see- 
ing that the Touaregs are always making war on 
France. Eniin, the rumor seems to have been built 
up on that.” 

“I see. Modest of you. Bazaars have ears, but 
we don’t say whose feet they walk about on. Well, 
my lad, you’ve poked your nose in where you are not 
wanted, and now you’ll just have to stay till it’s 
convenient to let you go.” 

“I’m afraid I do not exactly understand.” 

“My French,” said Kettle grimly, “may not be 
first chop, but if you force me to start handling you, 
I’ll guarantee you don’t complain that I fail to make 
my meaning clear then. I’m here, my man, to dig 
up part of Carthage. I don’t know whether you’ve 


CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 65 


done any navvying before, but I guarantee you’ll be 
tolerably expert before I’ve done with you.” 

“But I don’t agree ” 

“I don’t ask you to. But presently you’ll be re- 
quested to work, and if you fail to do your whack, 
I shall argue with you in a style that will probably 
surprise your nerves.” 

It is better perhaps to pass lightly over the pain- 
ful apprenticeship which M. Max had to serve be- 
fore he became thoroughly acquainted with Captain 
Kettle’s methods, and thought it best to submit to 
them. He resisted vehemently at first, and was be- 
labored with the haft of a shovel till he saw fit to 
delve. He tried to pass over his taskmaster when 
they desisted from labor, and supped, and lay down 
to rest, being deceived by the little man’s snores; 
but promptly discovered that he slept weasel-like 
with one eye on watch. And there were other 
episodes. 

But presently, when they settled down, there grew 
up between the two of them an understanding of 
one another’s qualities which amounted almost to 
respect. Their hands were chafed to rawness on 
pick and shovel as they labored to dig through the 
deposits of the ages, and the dust and the stuffy heat 
kept them in a state of approaching strangulation. 
The debris they dug from their pit they stored in the 


66 CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 

galleries behind them, so that every basketful tended 
to constrict the already narrow air space. But Ket- 
tle, in a moment of expansion, had let out the se- 
cret of his quest, and had promised M. Camille a 
handsome present out of his abundance when it came 
to him, and the journalist, who was naturally a fel- 
low of fine imagination, brightened the toil with 
brilliant pictures of the hoard which lay so close to 
them. 

At intervals came Mohammed Shabash or one of 
his emissaries bearing provisions. Mohammed was 
mad with excitement at the thought of making his 
fortune, and very frightened lest there should be 
trouble with the French Government about realizing. 
As Mohammed kept repeating, he was “mos’ 
civilize.” 

But with Mohammed Shabash, Kettle could not 
make a friendship. Kettle had liked the savage Ali ; 
but the more polished product of Earl’s Court and 
Chicago had something so kickable in his nature 
that he bitterly repented that even hunger should 
have forced him into a partnership with such a 
creature. 

And in the meanwhile the work went on. Pick, 
pick, pick into caked ground that was almost as hard 
as virgin rock, and then scrape, scrape with the 
shovel at the dusty fragments so hardly won, Clay 


CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 67 


they threw out, and scraps of stone, and fragments 
of figured brick, and clots of tesselated pavement. 
M. Camille compared himself to a troglodyte, and 
mapped out a plan for an underground cafe chan- 
tant in a palace of original Carthage. Captain Ket- 
tle pictured to himself what hell must be really like, 
both for climate and situation, and stored up in his 
memory notes for a sermon on the subject when 
once more he got back to the pulpit of his chapel 
in Wharfedale. 

Never once did the little sailor’s faith in Ali Ak- 
kerim’s instructions fail. “The top half of what it 
said is correct,” he would repeat, “as we’ve seen for 
ourselves. The archaeological chaps have rooted up 
the buildings round the treasury just as the plan 
marks them. And if we go on long enough we shall 
come to the bottom of the street where the door is. 
But by James ! talk of dynamite. This dried mud is 
hard enough to chip bits off dynamite!” 

Their constant labor, however, at last met with 
its reward. They bottomed their shaft and came 
upon a cobbled pavement. Another half day’s work, 
and they cleared the wall of the treasury itself, a 
wall built of stone in massive blocks. Camille, full 
of haste now, was for attacking it forthwith, and 
quarrying a passage to the glittering wealth within. 
Kettle, more practical, showed that the polished 


68 CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 


granite was almost as hard as their pick, and that 
it was as likely as not a dozen feet in thickness. A 
doorway lay further on down the street. They must 
burrow a way to it. 

They did this, with infinite pain and weariness, 
coming upon layers of charred wood now, com- 
pressed to the hardness of coal, and in the end were 
confronted with the door itself, a massive structure 
of bronze. 

Here at any rate there appeared a check. But to 
their surprise the metal had so perished under the 
ages that they were quickly able to batter a passage. 
They scrambled with one another to be first through 
the opening. They found themselves in a vast 
chamber, pillared and vaulted. In it were stored 
red earthenware jars, each of the bigness of a man. 
The candles, burning with feebleness in the foul air, 
showed the place but dimly. 

Each peered into the jars nearest to him. They 
were empty except for a little dust. They ran along 
the rows, searching, searching, and found always 
dust, but never metal, never gems. 

Kettle threw over one of the jars, and it fell and 
splintered. “Just my luck. The place has been 
looted already.” 

M. Max Camille, the man of superficial reading, 
leaned down and fingered the dust. “I don’t think 


CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 69 


so,” he said slowly. “No, look there. That’s a 
grain of corn. Ah, it has crumbled. But there’s 
another. And look, another. Monsieur, we are in 
the Treasury of Carthage, and those jars contained 
the treasure, which has never been tampered with 
from the day it was stored till we arrived. The only 
error we made was to imagine that the State reserve 
would be coin or jewels. Naturally it would be 
corn. But I am afraid what is left would fetch lit- 
tle in the cereal market to-day.” 

"Just my luck,” said Kettle. "Here, let’s get out 
of this.” 

They climbed to the surface again and sat down 
on the ground facing the sea. 

Kettle snuffed luxuriously at the incoming sea- 
breeze. "Good smell, hasn’t it, after you’ve 
been away from it for long? It’s a decent old 
puddle.” 

The Frenchman shrugged. "Each to his taste. 
For myself I always associate the sea with ships, and 
ships with purgatory May I take it that mon- 

sieur has now dispensed with my services?” 

"Yes, you may go when you please. You don’t 
get the bit of a plum I promised you, and I am 
sorry. You worked like a man. But I don’t advise 
you to start off on that spy racket again, with me 
as a subject.” 


70 CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 


M. Camille laughed. “Monsieur has cured me 
of any desire in that direction. Monsieur is such a 
risque tout . But for this latter performance I 
should counsel a quiet tongue. It is strictly forbid 
to dig unauthorized among the ruins. And I am 
equally involved with monsieur.” 

“I’m not likely to brag about it. Besides, I shall 
be off to sea again presently. That’s my proper 
place. I don’t seem to turn up successes on shore 
anyway,” 

“Of course there is monsieur’s partner, a native, 
I understand. It would be very inconvenient to 
me if he talked about the matter.” 

“Yes, I’d forgotten him. Well, we’ll tell him we 
resign all claim to the loot, and let him come and 
look at it for himself and get his own share 
of the disappointment. He’s a man who’s 
earned my dislike. But as for talking, you 
needn’t be afraid. He’s far too careful of his own 
skin.” 

“Then good-by, monsieur. I am glad that you 
have forgiven that little misunderstanding about the 
spy trouble.” 

Captain Kettle winked. “That’s all right,” he 
said. “I’ve had my score against that already. 
Look, here’s a draft of the letter which I forwarded 
under the cover of one to my wife.” 


CARTHAGINIAN STATE RESERVE. 71 


He pulled a paper from his pocketbook, and lit a 
match. This is what M. Camille read: 

“To the General Manager 
“War Dept., Govt. Offices, 

“London, Eng. 

“ Sir — Inclosed please find plan of forts, harbors, 
etc., at Bizerta. Have come across these here, and 
am sending them because French took me for a spy, 
which I am not. If they had not worried me should 
not have sent them. I understand your Intelligence 
Dept, is very inferior, so these will probably come as 
news to you. I am not asking for any pay, for, al- 
though a poor man, I have my pride. But, if there 
is any pay going, you' might send it to Wharf edale 
Particular Methodist Chapel, Craggetts, via Skip- 
t on-in-Craven, for general maintenance account. 

“Yours truly, 

“0. Kettle ( Master ).” 

“Sacred blue!” said M. Max Camille. 



CHAPTER III. 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 

It speaks volumes for Captain Kettle's destitute 
and desperate condition that he should have accepted 
such a position at all. Indeed, to his peculiarly 
masterful mind, the degradation of it was more ap- 
parent than it would have been to a weaker man. 
But he had no choice. Walpole, the agent, was bru- 
tally frank upon the matter. 

“My dear Captain,” he said, “if you want the 
billet you must swallow the conditions. It’s no par- 
ticle of use your trying to stand on your dignity, and 
if you still intend to I must ask you to do it out- 
side this office. I’m only an agent in the matter, 
and I’ve been bullied down the cable by the owners 
till the worry of it’s brought on my old fever again. 
A white Englishman isn’t intended by nature to be 
badgered to this extent during the summer months 
in Tunis.” 

“I’m sure I feel for you, sir,” said the little sailor. 
“I know from my own experience that steamship 
owners can be very trying sometimes.” 

“Well, we won’t discuss that, Captain. The ques- 
tion is, are you going out as skipper of this Ash- 
12 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


73 


ville, or am I to wire around the Algerian ports to 
pick up some other man who holds a master’s ticket ? 
You must not think I’m cornered because just for the 
moment you’re the only available skipper in Tunis. 
The boat is losing money, of course, by staying in 
harbor here, with her wages and grub bills, and all 
her other expenses running up, and I pressed that 
point forward, and only got snubbed for my pains. 
I’m to get a skipper who will consent to act under the 
mate, and if time is lost in finding such a man, it is 
no concern of mine. The owners seem to know 
what they are doing. I guess they’ve a notion they 
can trust the mate, and I don’t blame them. You 
know as well as I do, Captain, the sort of pirate an 
out-of-a-job skipper at a place like Tunis generally 
is. It’s seldom he’s over-brimming with excel- 
lences.” 

Poor Kettle flushed painfully under the tan. 
“They’re a set of drunken brutes for the most part, 
sir.” 

“No offence to you, Captain, of course, though I 
was told pointedly of one or two little games you’ve 
been up to since you’ve been in this colony, and I 
must say you’ve got a gallows-bad reputation among 
the French here.” 

“I think it’s an Englishman’s duty, sir, to keep his 
end up with foreigners wherever he may be.” 


74 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


“Yes,” said Walpole ambiguously. “I fancy 
you’re just the type of man that keeps up our dear 
country’s reputation. Come now, Captain, about 
this Ashville ?” 

Kettle stared round the bare whitewashed walls 
of the office, and moved uneasily in his chair. “I 
suppose there’s something wrong with the mate, too, 
or they’d have given him command, as they seem so 
fond of him? It’s the usual thing, too, to promote 
the mate.” 

“Kelly, the mate, hasn’t a master’s certificate, and 
I should have thought you might have guessed that.” 
Mr. Walpole fanned himself with a palm leaf, and 
spoke with growing irritation. “The late skipper 
came in here mad drunk, steamed his old packet up 
full speed across the lake, nearly washed away the 
walls of the dredged-out fairway, sank a lighter, 
and would have run down the quay, if only they 
hadn’t mutinied in the engine-room and stopped her 
way for him.” 

“Well, I will say a man like that deserves to be 
fired.” 

“Oh, the owners weren’t vindictive. They’d have 
taken Captain Carmichael on again. I had instruc- 
tions to pay all fines and damages, and get him off 
to sea again as soon as possible. But I will give the 
French credit for knowing how to tackle a case like 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


75 

that. They know a bad man when they see one, and 
they keep a man of Carmichael’s sort safe in jail. 
They gave him three years. It doesn’t matter a sou 
to them how long the steamboat is tied up here eat- 
ing her head off. They just won’t give any clear- 
ance papers till they see there’s a man on board hold- 
ing a master’s ticket.” 

“No, for that matter you must carry a man with 
a full certificate if the insurance policy isn’t to be 
voided. The underwriters see to that.” 

Mr. Walpole started slightly. Was this little 
sailor hinting at something? Well, he was going 
to indulge in no confidence with a waif from a 
Tunisian slum. He tapped the writing table sharp- 
ly with his fan. “Come, now, Captain, I’m a busy 
man, and we’ve wasted more than enough time al- 
ready. The wages are £14 a month. Do you 
accept ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And it’s under the distinct understanding that 
you are under Kelly’s orders.” 

“I give you my word for that, sir.” 

“I’m glad to have it. Not that it matters par- 
ticularly. As you will find for yourself, Captain, 
Mr. Kelly is a big lump of a fellow, who could put 
you in his waistcoat pocket if you turned up awk- 
ward with him.” 


76 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


“I’d love to see him try it,” said Kettle unpleas- 
antly. “I’d like you to understand, sir, that I’ve 
tackled some of the ugliest toughs that ever carried 
a shut fist in my time, and size isn’t a thing I take 
into account. If Mr. Kelly treats me respectfully, 
he’ll find no officer more easy to get on with. But, 
by James, if he tries any handling games on me, he’ll 
find his skipper a holy earthquake.” 

“Ts ts” said Walpole, half to himself, “that’s 
just the character I heard about you. Confound it, 
man, why do you want to take offence where none 
was intended? I only wanted to give you a civil 
hint. I’m sure that if you only do your duty quietly, 
you’ll find Kelly quite pleasant and easy to get on 
with, and you’ll have as nice a run out to Brazil as 
a man could wish for. The only thing I know 
wrong about Kelly is that he’s half mad on the sub- 
ject of some patent medicine, Kopke’s-something- 
Cure it is, and rams its virtue down your throat on 
every possible occasion.” 

“I know my duty as shipmaster, and I do it 
exactly.” 

The agent tapped Kettle gently on the knee with 
his palm-leaf fan. “The great thing for a ship- 
master to do is to find out his owners’ wishes, and 
carry them through. If he does that, he gets extra 
pay, and perquisites, and promotion.” 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


77 


The agent clearly wished to convey some hint. 
But Captain Kettle refused to unbend. “I have been 
accustomed, sir, to have my owners’ instructions 
given to me direct, either verbally or in writing. 
Of course, away from home an agent stands for the 
owner. If you have anything to say to me, sir, it 
shall have my best attention.” 

Mr. Walpole slammed his fan down on to the 
writing desk and took up a pen. “I have nothing 
further to add, Captain. If you will permit me to 
say so, you are a complete stranger to me, and your 
manner since you came into this office has not been 
such as to invite superfluous confidences.” 

Captain Kettle stood sharply to his feet, and 
swung on his cap. “1 bid you good morning,” he 
said, and walked out. 

For a minute he stood there and hesitated, and his 
eye traveled over the new white French buildings 
which lined the street. The sight of them sickened 
him. Out beyond the town walls was a hill, irregu- 
lar with the quaint monuments of a Moslem ceme- 
tery, and beyond again, under the aching blue of 
the sky, was Africa, full of a million possibilities. 

There never was such a climate as that of Africa 
for breeding schemes full of the most brilliant prom- 
ise. During his recent residences, both in French 
Tunis and in the native city above, he had been of- 


78 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


fered partnership in ten such schemes for every 
day. He had dabbled in several till he had arrived 
at the point which proved them barren. But to 
make money out of any of them was beyond the 
power of sorcery. How he had lived even on their 
meagre proceeds was a mystery. 

Just then, too, money was for him a crying neces- 
sity. A mortgage pressed like some horrid incubus 
on the farm in Wharf edale, and the interest was long 
in arrears. It was only by courtesy tliat his wife 
and daughters had not been long since evicted. If 
it had not been for that, he would have tried again 
at some of these African ventures. But the risk of 
them was too great. From this steamer berth he 
could touch his advance wages at once, and these, if 
sent to England, would tide over present difficulties. 
It was only his pride and his own tastes which stood 
in the way. He cursed these sharply, and strode off 
down the tramway lines toward the coal dust and the 
quays. 

The Ashville lay stern-on to the. concrete wall, and 
a gang plank with a flimsy life-line gave passage 
over her counter. The little sailor stepped briskly; 
up, and stood for a minute on the poop, looking 
around him with vast disgust. On the hatch of the 
main deck below him, under a ragged temporary 
awning, four deck hands sprawled on the warm tar- 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


79 


paulins and wrangled drearily over some dirty cards. 
In the alleyway an engineer in pajamas discoursed 
music on a mouth-organ. On the bridge-deck above 
a couple of well-curved hammocks exuded the to- 
bacco smoke of complacent idlers. 

Kettle ran down the poop ladder, crossed the main 
deck, and went up to the chart-house with his quick, 
springy stride. The chart-house was closed by its 
wire mosquito door, and from within came heavy 
labored snores. Captain Kettle stepped inside and be- 
held in singlet and trousers a man, enormously fat, 
asleep on the settee. He was packed with pillows 
almost to the sitting posture, and even with this re- 
lief his face was blue, and his breathing stertorous. 

The little sailor knew well the symptoms. “H’m,” 
he commented. “You aren't built for this hot cli- 
mate. And by that blue mug of yours your heart’s 
bad, anyway. I guess waking you will be a kind- 
ness.” 

The sleeper opened his eyes at Kettle’s touch, and 
shuddered flabbily. 

“I suppose you’re Mr. Kelly, the mate?” 

“That’s my name and grade.” His voice was 
curiously high and weak. 

“I’m Captain Kettle, that’s just been appointed 
here as master in place of Captain Carmichael. I 
suppose the second mate must have been acting as 


80 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


mate while you’ve been temporarily in command, 
and I must say he’s backed you up very badly. The 
packet’s like a hog-pen to look at; some deckhands 
have got a card party on number four hatch ; and a 
brace of dirty firemen are siestaing in hammocks on 
the bridge deck.” 

“I suppose there was nothing further for them to 
do. We’ve been in harbor here some time.” 

“That doesn’t matter. By James, what’s this 
second mate — that’s been acting mate — made of? 
By James, doesn’t he know enough to make work for 
the hands, even if there isn’t work? I've seen hands 
turned to at chipping and burnishing chain cable if 
there was no other way of keeping idleness out of 
them. It strikes me as being about time that young 
man stepped back to his proper job again, and had 
you above him once more as mate, to show him 
what a mate’s duties really are.” 

The fat man helped himself to a drink of water 
from the top of the wash-stand, to which he added 
some drops from a bottle bearing a patent medicine 
label, and then he turned round with a hand in his 
breeches pocket. 

“I suppose Mr. Walpole, the agent,” he said in his 
high, weak voice, “pointed out to you that the own- 
ers wished me to have practically the entire manage- 
ment on board here?” 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


81 


“He did. But at the same time I was led to un- 
derstand that, barring that you had the misfortune 
not to hold a master’s ticket, you were perfectly 
competent for everything else in the way of duty.” 

“I see. And as it is?” 

“As it is, I’ve seen for myself what sort of discip- 
line you keep. You’ve no sort of command over 
your crew. If you wanted any of those hands to 
do anything, he’d have to wake up first, and then 
he’d think, and then nine to one he’d refuse.” 

“Oh,” squeaked the fat man. “That’s your idea? 
Well, different people have different ways of carry- 
ing on discipline. For myself I don’t believe in 
hazing my hands. When there’s work to do I see 
they do it ; but when there isn’t, I let them stand easy. 
I’ve no use for a burnished anchor or shined-up wire 
rigging. But when I want a man to do anything, 
don’t you make any error about his doing it. The 
hands here know me. They take it as an axiom 
that I always cover them before I give an 
order.” 

“That’s more than I should do.” 

“Well, Captain, I’ll tell you in confidence that I’ve 
no use for a rough-and-tumble. My heart wouldn’t 
stand it. And when you came in here, you looked 
like war, and so I to'ok the liberty to make ready for 
you.” He nodded down at his trousers pocket, and 


82 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


by a movement of the hand concealed there, showed 
the outline of a revolver which kept it company. 

“Ah,” said Kettle with a shrug, “if you contrived 
to hit me.” 

“I’m not without practice, Captain. I had to 
down one swine in the Bay not ten days ago for re- 
fusing duty. Got him in the hip bone in one shot. 
You can see the patch I’ve had to put on the cloth 
where the shot came through. The rest of the crew 
turned to like lambs when they saw him drop. 
There’s some that clap a pistol to a man’s head, 
there’s some that shoot from inside a jacket pocket; 
but for real daunting effect I believe my way of 
loosing off from inside your trousers pocket beats 
anything that’s ever been yet invented. They never 
know when you’re laying for them ; and as a conse- 
quence it smashes their nerve, and they just obey 
orders like so many school kids.” 

“Well, Mr. Mate, it appears I’ve misjudged you 
somewhat, and I’m open to apologize. Not that I 
think you could have fetched me with a down-wrist 
shot like that, before I could have blown daylight 
into you. I carry my own gun in the old-fashioned, 
respectable hip pocket, and practice has made me 
pretty nippy in pulling it. But, Mr. Kelly, I agree 
with you that yours is a good enough way of get- 
ting respect with a crew, and if under those circum- 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


83 


stances it doesn’t hurt your eye to see the old packet 
look like a hog-pen, I’ve nothing more to add. 
There, sir, that’s for you, and I may say it’s not 
my habit to apologize like that very frequently.” 

“I’m sure, Captain, you’re treating me handsome- 
ly. I’ve whiskey here. I’ll just order steam for 
you by your leave, and then we’ll have a peg, if you 
don’t mind, to our better and more pleasant acquain- 
tance.” 

If Captain Kettle had taken to a certain extent 
the measure of the mate, Mr. Kelly-had grasped with 
considerable accuracy the character of Captain Ket- 
tle, and formed his behavior accordingly. The crew 
were turned to at the ordinary affairs of shipboard, 
and by the time the Ashville got her clearance papers 
and pilot, and cast off from the bollards on Tunis 
Harbor quay, the click of an iron discipline had 
spread itself fore and aft. She steamed dead slow 
down the putrid lake, between the festering walls of 
dredged-out filth, and reached Goleta and dropped 
her pilot, and then with the lift of clear green Medi- 
terranean water beneath, drew away from that coast 
of many histories, and rolled off on her own mysteri- 
ous errand. 

The cabin food was good; the Captain’s steward 
was a man of brain and taste; and when at last he 
had seen his vessel free of the land, and was able to 


84 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


go down for supper, Kettle had a second cut at the 
salt beef, and a third spoonful of the dry hash, and 
a fourth cup of the black well-boiled tea, and after- 
ward said a new and elegant extempore grace with 
peculiar unction. It was many a weary month 
since he had tasted a meal which so entirely tickled 
his palate. 

He was impressed, too, with his moral victory 
over the mate. He had never had an officer under 
him more observant of the dignity due to a ship’s 
titular head, and, when it came to the point, he had 
seldom come across a mate, who, when he chose, 
could so satisfactorily drive a crew. Every morn- 
ing the rising sun was greeted with the thump of 
holystones and the swish of hose and sand. The 
steamer began to carry with her always the cleanly 
odor of new-drying paint. So what with this pleas- 
ant scent in his nostrils, and the sight of gleaming 
brasswork and snowy decks, Kettle’s senses were 
lulled with a kind of beatific, enjoyment. 

Still, with all that, on the rare occasions when the 
fierce-eyed little man offered to unbend, which even 
the strictest of ship-masters may do at times to an 
elderly and competent mate, Mr. Kelly maintained 
a respectful reserve. Walpole, the agent ashore, 
had hinted at instructions given by the vessel’s own- 
ers, first to Captain Carmichael, and then to Kelly, 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


85 


and Kettle, who was earning the owners’ pay, and 
so was full of loyalty to these owners, had a natural 
wish to know the trend of their instructions. He 
hinted and hinted to this effect, but the fat, blue- 
faced mate would never unbosom himself ; and when 
finally he put his question with blunt openness, he 
was met with an equally blunt, though respectful 
refusal. 

“My orders, sir,” said Kelly, “were given to me 
in confidence, and you will see for yourself that 
without further orders, I cannot hand them on.” 

“Right,” said Kettle, and reached for his accor- 
dion. “That clears my conscience, and if anything 
is done on this steamboat against owners’ wishes, 
it’s their funeral. My theory is, Mr. Kelly, that 
when a master’s drawing pay, he’s bound to carry 
out the orders of those that are paying him. But if 
lie gets no orders, he just does what he considers 
right and shipshape. We’ll drop the subject now, 
please, and if you choose you may listen while I give 
some music.” 

The Ashville called in at Grand Canary and coaled 
at Las Palmas, and then running south about the 
island, stood across the greater ocean for Santos in 
Brazil, her first American port of call. The lips of 
Kelly, the mate, were more blue than ever, and his 
neck was thicker, and the veins of his forehead were 


86 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


more congested. A minute’s exertion left him al- 
most breathless. But he stuck to his work with a 
stolid pluck which Kettle could but’ admire; and 
though at times fright at his own condition showed 
itself plainly in his eye, he never complained. 

Kettle, with a sailor’s fondness for drugs, had 
overhauled the ship’s medicine chest as one of his 
first exercises on board, and himself had sampled 
many of its contents. More than once he had of- 
fered a dose to the mate, particularizing the mixture 
which he felt sure would do him good. But Kelly 
swore by Kopke’s Competent Cure. He had come 
across it, so he said, in a moment of desperate need ; 
had found from the advertisement that his complaint 
was one of the many which it made a specialty of 
curing ; and had stuck to it ever since with the most 
encouraging results. 

He was a dull man, the mate. He was a man 
pressed down by ill-health and the dread of sudden 
death. But there was one subject he could wax 
enthusiastic over, and that was the Competent Cure. 
He could quote the literature supplied with the bot- 
tles with fluent accuracy. He was as ardent in find- 
ing converts to Kopke as ever Kettle was in collect- 
ing adherents to the lonely creed of the Wharfedale 
Particular Methodist Chapel. 

So matters went along, then, on the Ashville, 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


87 


even-gaited as one may say, till Teneriffe, which was 
the last land of the Canary Islands, had sunk four 
days beneath the sea, and then the accident occurred 
which made her voyage memorable. It arrived a 
bell after the watch had been changed at midnight, 
and announced its arrival with a crack, a crash, a 
bump and a jar, a noisy shiver of the vessel’s fabric, 
a wild whirring of engines, all of which were 
scaring enough, and then a moment’s absolute 
silence, which was the most awe-raising of tfre 
whole lot. 

Captain Owen Kettle was lying on his bunk in 
neat pajamas, smoking a moist black Canary cigar, 
and wrestling with a reluctant rhyme. Three well- 
turned verses stood to his credit on the writing 
block in neatly penciled lines. He had the senti- 
ments of the fourth verse securely in his head; it 
tripped merrily to his favorite tune of “Greenland’s 
Icy Mountains,” but it was coy of delivering itself 
in exact metre. But at the alarm he slipped paper 
and pencil under the pillow of the bunk, and was 
outside the chart-house and on to the upper bridge 
well under five seconds. 

Both mate and second mate were there already, 
the former almost choked with his hurry and his 
emotions. But to Kettle’s trained intelligence there 
was no need for a special report. The quietude of 


88 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


the propeller, and a few light clouds of steam bil- 
lowing up from the engine-room skylight, told him 
where the trouble had occurred, and the rush of 
water from somewhere below hinted at its gravity. 

“She’s by the stern already,” gasped Kelly in his 
high, unnatural falsetto. 

“An inch or so. But listen to that squeak. That’s 
one of the engineers screwing down the watertight 
slide over the shaft tunnel. It’ll be a section of 
shaft that’s gone, but whether it’s the tail or the 
intermediate has got to be seen. We shall have a 
sweet job mending it.” 

“Mending!” screamed Kelly. “There can be no 
question of repairs out here. It is out of all reason. 
Besides, she is settling down already. There is no 
chance of a tow either. We are out of all steamer 
tracks. I tell you she is settling down now — look. 
We must get the boats into the water and desert 
her before she swamps with us.” 

Captain Owen Kettle glared at the mate, and 
swung a hand round to his hip. The mate, with 
heaving chest, hung on the bridge-rail with one arm, 
and kept the other gripped on something in his 
breeches pocket. They were within an ace of some 
very rapid shooting. 

But Kelly was clever enough to appeal to the only 
plea which could have saved the peace. “You prom- 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


89 


ised!” ne cried. “The final say of everything con- 
nected with this steamboat is to be mine, Captain. 
You passed your word, and if that’s not all canting 
humbug that you’ve said about your chapel and your 
faith, you’ll keep it.” 

Kettle slipped away the threatening hand, and 
crammed it out of temptation’s way in his pajama 
pocket. “If you are acting just now on owners’ in- 
structions,” he said pointedly, “you’d better tell me 
what they are, and I’ll help to carry them out. I’m 
earning owners’ pay, and am open to doing what 
they hire me for.” 

“I can tell you nothing. I dare tell you nothing. 
My last word is that the old packet is sinking, and 
there is no chance to repair her, and no chance of 
being picked up, and we must leave her in the boats. 
Ah! here’s the chief. You’ll see he’ll confirm 
what I’ve said. There’s no chance of repairs out 
here.” 

The old chief engineer came up to the bridge and 
made his report. The tail-shaft had cracked and 
parted. The engines had raced badly before they 
could be stopped, but had done themselves no seri- 
ous damage. No one was hurt, although there had 
been some narrow escapes. He was blowing off 
steam now. “A tidy sup of water got into my en- 
gine-room before we could get the shaft tunnel cut 


90 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


off with the slide door/’ said the chief, with gloomy 
triumph. “I always said that the worm gear we 
have for shutting off shaft tunnels worked too slow, 
and I brought out a patent once for a quicker mo- 
tion. But none of the firms I offered it to would 
take it up, and I lost my own bit o’ capital by trying 
to run it myself, and that’s why I’m here to-day 
instead of riding in a motor car of my own on shore. 
It’s a fine satisfaction to me to be able to tell from 
my own experience ” 

“Yes, yes, Mr. Brodie, that’s all right. But what 
I want to know is, can we, in your opinion, repair 
her?” 

“We-e-11! if it’s repairs at sea ye talk of, it would 
be very difficult ” 

“There!” screamed Kelly, “I knew! We are 
wasting time. She is settling down under 
us. Captain Kettle, I remind you again of your 
promise, and bid you order me at once to get out 
the boats.” 

Old Brodie permitted himself to deliver a small 
whistle of surprise. 

Kettle felt it due to his honor to explain. “Mr. 
Brodie, I wish you to understand that the mate is 
in virtual command, in accordance with an agree- 
ment which I made with Mr. Walpole, the agent, in 
Tunis. That is for your own information, and not 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


91 


for a court of inquiry, if ever we come to one. I 
never sailed in such a humiliating position before, 
and never shall have the chance again if ever we get 
ashore and this is looked into. The dirty business 
will cost me my ticket as sure as James. Mr. Kelly, 
you may get those blasted boats into the water as 
quick as you jimmy well please.” 

News of this kind quickly spreads. Out from the 
forecastle doors trotted deckhands, firemen and 
trimmers, each with a bag that was swollen with his 
scanty wardrobe. The officers, whose effects were 
insured, took care to provide for a new kit by bring- 
ing nothing. 

The steamer fell off into the trough of a good 
strong Atlantic swell, and roared steam through the 
escapes as though her boilers pained her. The men 
climbed to the top of the fiddley and threw them- 
selves at the boats. They ripped off the awnings, 
pitched out the falls, cut the gripes, kicked away the 
chocks, and then packed in their valueless bundles 
with care and thoughtfulness. Afterward, with a vast 
amount of getting in one another’s way, they set 
about filling water breakers, and laying hold of 
victuals. 

Except for the cook and the captain’s steward, no 
one in the least seemed to know where anything was 
stored. The mess-room steward, who might have 


93 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


helped, had got at the second engineer’s whiskey bot- 
tle, and had quickly reduced himself to such a state 
that he could contribute nothing but incoherencies 
and music. The other two were dazed, had not 
enough initiative to act without orders, and ran about 
from place to place, not knowing what to start on 
first. There was nobody to order, nobody to guide, 
nobody to drive. 

The confusion was amazing, and notwithstand- 
ing the fact that there was not the smallest imme- 
diate danger of the vessel sinking beneath them, 
something very like a panic began to grow, and 
quickly spread. Captain Kettle, the nominal com- 
mander, did nothing to check it. He perched him- 
self on a white painted rail of the upper bridge and 
smoked and waited. He had had his lawful au- 
thority rudely plucked from him by the mate, and, 
in his fierce little mind, it seemed to him only bare 
justice that the mate should take over the hard part 
of the command with the soft. 

He watched Kelly carry his purple face about 
from place to place, squeaking, threatening, gasping 
for breath. The men took small enough notice of 
him. The other officers, seeing that there was some- 
thing wrong in his relationship with the Captain, 
backed him up very half-heartedly, and in conse- 
quence there was chaos, which Kettle grimly enough 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 93 

set down as a compliment paid by justice to 
himself. 

Then panic bit deeper, and one of the lifeboats 
filled with men, too maddened with their sheep- 
like scare to think of their utter lack of provisions 
and the thousand miles between them and the near- 
est land. They swung the davits outboard and low- 
ered her. Other men leaped on to the tackles and 
swarmed down into her. Kelly rushed at them, 
beating furiously at their heads with the stock and 
trigger guard of his pistol. 

“You fools !” he screamed, “you frightened fools ! 
There are plenty of other boats.” Then he gurgled, 
and then breath failed him, and he fell in a slack 
heap and twitched feebly. 

It was at this point that Captain Owen Kettle in- 
terfered. He clapped a hand on to the bridge rail, 
and vaulted lightly over on to the fiddley. Fie went 
to the mate’s side, and made a quick diagnosis. 
“Apoplectic,” he said, “and any one could have 
guessed it was coming from the mere look of you. 
You knew it yourself, and what drugs could do, you 
did. But I guess you are booked past Kopke this 
trip. Here you, and you, take the mate down below 
to his room.” 

The two men he had spoken to turned with fright- 
ened scowls, and showed every inclination of dis- 


94 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


obeying their Captain’s orders. (Kettle, be it re- 
membered, was small to look at, and, so far, on 
board the Ashville , had not shown that he was other- 
wise than small in either power or ability. ) But of 
a sudden these two men found themselves gripped 
by two very capable hands, and their heads were 
knocked violently together, and then furious attacks 
were made upon them with foot, fist and tongue, 
till out of sheer terror and pain they picked up poor 
Kelly, and carried him below as commanded. 

“Hold on with all those boats,” was Kettle’s next 
order, and as the panic-stricken mob showed no in- 
clination of listening to him, he picked up an ax and 
stove in one after another. “By James !” he 
shouted, “if any of you swine think you can navi- 
gate the South Atlantic on a ladder you may go, but 
otherwise you’ll stay on this packet till I give you 
leave to quit.” 

One boat only reached the water and pushed off, * 
and this was the unprovisioned, over-loaded life- 
boat which had left the davits before Captain Kettle 
interfered. Three men pulled at her oars. Two 
baled with boots and one with a bucket, and it was 
plain to see that the water gained on them. 

Kettle hailed them. “Here, you in that star- 
board lifeboat! Come back here out of the 
wet. You dirty coal heavers, you no-sailors, your 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


95 


boat's swamping. Come back here before you 
drown.” 

“By crumbs,” cried one of the lifeboat's crew, 
“the plug’s out, that’s why the bally boat's sinking. 
Here, give me a thole pin, and I’ll whittle that down 
into shape.” 

Captain Kettle lifted an accurate pistol, and from 
his perch high above the boat, drove a bullet through 
her floorboards. “There’s another hole for you. 
Now let me see any swine try to plug it and I’ll 
drop him. Here, you at that steering oar, turn her 
head in to those falls, or, by James, I’ll make a 
vacancy for a new coxswain. Give way there, you 
tailors !” 

The boat drew in to the 'Ashville’s side, hooked 
on, and Kettle sketched patterns over her crew with 
a revolver muzzle. The boat was lifted, baled, and 
hoisted up to the davits. 

The stolid, elderly Mr. Brodie, seeing the way 
things were going, had lowered himself over the 
counter by a rope’s end, had swung on to the rud- 
der pendants, and from that unstable point of van- 
tage had made a survey of the wreck. By the time 
the boats were inboard again and secured, he 
had made his way up to the bridge once more, and 
stood there exuding seawater, ready with his 
report. 


96 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


“Well?” said Kettle, “could you see the damage 
plainly?” 

“The water’s as clear as gin. The tail-shaft’s 
in two half way, and the outer end’s just dropped 
clean out of her.” 

“Where’s the propeller?” 

“With the shank of the tail-shaft. I don’t know 
what are the soundings here.” 

“About two miles, as near as might be,” said 
Kettle grimly, “so we shan’t anchor. We shall drift. 
If you want to know how long we shall drift, it will 
be just the time you take to get her under steam 
again. I see by Captain Carmichael’s lists that she 
carries a spare section of shafting and a spare pro- 
peller. I want them shipped.” 

Brodie shook his head. “Contract too big.” 

“Not for me. If you don’t see your way to mak- 
ing those repairs at sea, I’ll show you how.” 

“Look here, Captain, I’m a fully qualified engi- 
neer, and I don’t need teaching my business by any- 
body.” 

“My man,” said Kettle acidly, “if I’d the Em- 
peror of Germany on board here as an officer of 
mine, and he didn’t do his job exactly as I wanted, 
I’d teach him, tough nut though he may think him- 
self. Now you aren’t the Emperor of Germany by a 
long fathom.” 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


97 


“What’s striking- me is, do the owners want her 
brought home again?” 

“I fail to see why not. She’s a valuable steam- 
boat.” 

“Well, Captain, in your ear, I’ve .a mind that 
that tail-shaft was as sound as a bell, and some- 
body’s helped it in two with a few cakes of gun 
cotton.” 

“Nothing to do with me.” 

“Oh, of course, sir, if you understand the owners’ 
wishes, I’ve nothing more to say.” 

“Mr. Brodie, I’ve asked for owners’ instructions 
from two people, and they have both flatly refused 
to give any. Half an hour ago some one else was 
in command of this packet. But it seems that I’m 
skipper now, and by James, I’m going to be it, and 
act just as my conscience dictates. If they’d treated 
me openly they could have found no more obedient 
servant on all the seas. But I’ll teach the beggars 
I’m not the man to be suspicious of.” 

Forthwith the Ashville became a very inferno of 
activity. Her crew worked with frantic energy, 
impelled thereto by the example and the fist of Cap- 
tain Owen Kettle; and steam, and every mechanical 
device clever minds could contrive, seconded their 
efforts. The ponderous length of spare shafting 
was got out from below, and lay on the quarter deck, 


93 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


rusting under tropical sunlight. A great propeller 
was brought up and laid beside it. 

Meanwhile clacking bilge pumps had cleared the 
engine-room of water, and opened valves had let 
water into the false bottom forward. But that did 
not bring her sufficiently by the head. The after 
hatches were pulled off, derricks rigged, and the 
rattling winches struck out cargo which was carried 
forward and built up on the forecastle head. The 
Ashville was taking out machinery — so her manifest 
said — and the machinery in its massive wooden 
cases made desperately heavy loads to carry along 
the reeling, uneven decks of the steamer. 

But as her head was depressed, and her stern 
lifted higher, the vessel began to swing like a vane 
head to wind, and when at last her stem was almost 
buried in the seas, her sternpost was sufficiently lifted 
to show the shaft tunnel clear of the water. 

Then began the heaviest labor of all. From the 
steamer’s meagre spars, shears and a staging had 
to be erected over the stern, and tackles set up 
which could handle enormous weights. So far the 
work had been hurried on at full pressure under the 
glare of an equatorial sun by day and to the dazzle 
of arc lamps when the sea was covered by night. 
The Ashville was provisioned only for the run be- 
tween Las Palmas and Santos, and undue prolonga- 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


99 


tion of the passage spelt starvation. Indeed, the 
slender Board of Trade “ whack” had been halved 
from the very day of the smash. But when the 
shears were erected, the steamer bucked for three 
whole days over a ponderous swell, and work on re- 
pairs was entirely out of the question. There was 
nothing for it but to sit and wait, and watch starva- 
tion grow more unpleasantly near. 

The crew at that time wished to repair the boats. 
But Kettle would not let them be touched. He had 
pinned his-honor and his reputation on making good 
the damage, and bringing in his vessel under steam, 
and he knew that nothing short of desperation could 
bring this to pass. If, when it came to the final 
pinch, his crew saw any other way of escape, they 
would take it in spite of his pistol and all his 
teeth. 

A calm came at last, and the gaunt, sun-scorched 
men attacked the work savagely. The ship’s stores 
were slender, and the wrecked tunnel in which most 
of the work had to be done was desperately narrow. 
But they knew their trade, and toiled at it with 
skilled sinews. They removed the length of shaft 
next the tail-shaft from its bearings. They with- 
drew the broken section into the tunnel, handling 
the great masses of metal with tackle contrived as 
the occasion arose. Then they put the new length 


100 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


into the stern tube until its nose was just showing 
outside, and lowered the propeller into place. Next 
they jacked aft and home the tail-shaft, told off half 
a dozen men and an engineer to screw home the pon- 
derous lock nuts, and even made a lignum vitae bush 
for the stern gland. After which the weary work 
of shifting cargo was again gone through, till she 
was once more in her ordinary trim. 

Then Brodie descended to his engine-room, and 
“took a turn from her.” 

It would be flattering to say that the result was 
anywhere near perfection. There was a grating and 
a groaning, and a rumbling like a railway train go- 
ing over an iron bridge. The whole steamer shud- 
dered as though the operation pained her. But, as 
the old chief said, the main thing was, they did go 
round, and the propeller seemed inclined to stay 
where it was put, and he on his part was ready to 
guarantee seven knots when the forward tanks were 
emptied, and the cargo brought aft again, and the 
vessel’s stern brought into trim. 

A liking had sprung up between Kettle and 
Brodie during this fierce spell of labor, which led 
them into mutual civilities when once more the 
Ashville was moving steadily on toward her 
port in Brazil. Each, too, had a sailor’s taste 
for drugs, and they discussed with much seri- 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 101 

ious argument the virtues of Kopke’s Competent 
Cure. 

Kelly, the mate, had left behind him the wrappers 
of several bottles of this specific, and the two read 
these, and based upon them many ingenious theories. 
Kettle held that Kopke must have virtue, since it had 
obviously kept the mate alive long beyond his time. 
The engineer, strong in faith with an opposition 
patent medicine of his own, held, that though Kopke 
was good for the lungs and indigestion, it was value- 
less to succor a damaged heart. Each adduced the 
case of Kelly in support of his contentions. 

“Well,” said Kettle, at last, “I wish the poor chap 
could have spoken before he died, just to tell us. 
Besides, I think it was only due to Kopke that he 
should know. But as it was, the mate never got out 
another word after the apoplexy struck him.” 

The engineer scratched his nose with a black 
thumbnail. “If Mr. Mate could have talked, Skip- 
per, I think he might have handed on as a last gasp 
those owners’ instructions that you were so keen 
on getting.” 

“There’s no telling. When a man’s pegging out, 
it’s quite a gamble what he talks about. Some think 
of their wives, some of kids, some of the last ra-ta 
they had ashore.” 

“Then I guarantee Kelly would have fetched up 


102 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


those owners’ instructions. He had a wife ashore, 
and kids. I knew ’em. And his last little ra-ta on 
the mud was his own bankruptcy. I don’t know 
the owners’ instructions, mind you, but I can make 
a hard guess at them, and they would all have con- 
nection with those other three things you men- 
tioned. 

“I’m just dead certain that he and Carmichael . 
were set on to see this ship never got to Santos at 
all. Carmichael weakened, and took to the whiskey, 
and got into trouble at Tunis, as you know. Poor 
old blue-faced Kelly hung on. I’ve had my sus- 
picions all along. I’d more suspicions when that 
shaft went. I heard gun cotton then, I smelt it, too, 
and I swear the shaft wouldn’t have parted if it was 
treated fairly.” 

"Is there anything to prove that ?” 

"No, everything was blown conveniently away. 
But wait a minute. What were those cases filled 
with that you struck out of No. 4 hold ?” 

"Machinery. I thought of that myself. But 
you’re wrong. They weren’t filled with bricks or 
anything like that. Two or three of the cases broke, 
and I saw the machinery for myself.” 

"So did I. But here’s where the expert comes in, 
Skipper. They were looms and spinning frames, 
and old ones at that. They were only fit for scrap. 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


103 


They weren’t worth more than two-and-six a hun- 
dredweight. Now, play on that.” 

“1 don’t want to,” said the little sailor. “I’ve had 
my suspicions all along. Mr. Walpole, the agent in 
Tunis, let me see there was something wrong, but 
he wouldn’t say what it was. Kelly was the same. 
And there are these other things. But I’m accus- 
tomed to being trusted, and I was not trusted here. 
Let an owner trust me, and I serve that man faith- 
fully so long as I’ve hands, or wind, or tongue left 
to me. But if I’m sent on board with somebody 
else in authority over me, and that somebody else is 
removed, well, then they may look out. I just play 
the game of simple honesty.” 

“I’d do the same if I were in your shoes. It’s 
time somebody made owners like those sit up. But 
there’s one other thing. They’ll fire you by cable in 
Santos. I don’t know whether it matters to you?” 

“It matters everything. I must have employment. 
I must. I’ve a wife and daughters on the farm at 
home in tremendous difficulties. But I don’t think 
I shall lose my present job over this. My duty is 
to the owners first, of course — when I know what 
that duty is — but after them there’s the British Con- 
sul to go to, and the next people to him are the un- 
derwriters. I don’t think they’ll fire me, Mr. 
Brodie. And finally, there’s this ” 


104 


THE TAIL-SHAFT. 


He took a small scrap of paper from his pocket- 
book, and laid it on the chart-table. Brodie leaned 
over and read it. 

“We promise to pay to Captain Carmichael £6,000 
for the loss of his clothes and effects if the f Ashville 9 
fails to come into port” 

And the signature was that of the steamer’s 
owners. 

“ I found it,” said Kettle, “in Norie’s ‘Epitome’ 
on the bookshelf up there. Carmichael must have 
been pretty drunk to leave such hanging evidence as 
that loose in an everyday book. But with that ready 
to hand over to a Consul, I don’t think the firm will 
fire me, eh, Mr. Brodie?” 

“By the Lord, Skipper, but you’re a great man. 
If ever I get that tunnel-slide patent of mine floated, 
I’ll take you into partnership. You’ve got what’s 
better than ordinary brains. You’ve got diplomacy. 
You can make trouble where any ordinary man 
couldn’t see a cat’s chance of it. By goats, you 
can 1” 


CHAPTER IV. 


SHANGHAIED. 

“It looks to me, sir,” said Trevor, the big mate, 
sulkily, “as if there’s been too much of this hurry.” 

“Well, we’re out of that stinking harbor and at 
sea, anyway,” said Captain Graham. 

“That’s all very well, sir,” grumbled the mate, 
“and I’m not shirking for myself. I’m willing to 
work till I drop.” 

“Yes, boy, I know that, and I shall report so to the 
firm when we get back home, and I’m sure I hope 
they give you the next vacant captaincy. I’m sure 
you deserve it, and you’ve had your skipper’s ticket 
long enough.” 

“You’ve got to let me have my say,” Trevor per- 
sisted doggedly. “I know quite well that it was 
awful gall to you not being able to get together a 
crew, and there was demurrage running up, and that 
agent just dancing to see us away to sea. But 
what’s the result? Here’s a big lump of a 6,000 
ton steamer and not enough deckhands for a 500 ton 
coaster. And down in the stokehold they’re just 

105 


SHANGHAIED. 


106 . 

as bad. It isn’t sailor-men I’m asking for. Any 
of their bally Argentine agriculturists would have 
done for me. But we haven’t even got enough of 
them. And what we have shipped seem dead.” 

“Oh, they’ll come to when they’ve had their sleep 
out.” 

“I wish I could think so. I’ve seen drugged men 
before, but none so bad as these. They’re all twisted 
up in knots. That Spanish skunk of a boarding- 
house master that put them on board, must have 
mixed strychnine and sulphuric acid in the drink that 
laid them out, if one can judge by appearances. 
There’s one of them, a littlish chap with a red peaked 
beard and a goodish lot of nose, that seems to me 
about dead already. I lifted one of his eyelids and 
put my finger on the eyeball, and that generally 
makes them wince unless they are about gone, but 
it got not so much as a wink from this joker.” 

“Well, Mr. Trevor, you’ve made your protest, and 
you can give it me in writing if you like, and a fat 
lot of good that will do. I hate putting to sea short- 
handed as much as you do, and when you’ve come 
to my time of life you’ll understand that this infernal 
sailoring trade is mostly made up of doing things 
you dislike. I know just as well as you do the risks 
of taking a big, heavy steamboat like this across from 
South America to Liverpool practically without a 


SHANGHAIED. 


107 


crew. But it’s been done before, and the odds are 
we do it again. I stand to lose more than you do 
if we hit an accident. If there’s an inquiry ” 

“Oh, of course, if it comes to that, I back you up 
loyally. Glosh! Yes.” 

“I know you would. But, let evidence be given 
how you like, it’s astonishing how things do come 
out at one of their beastly inquiries. Anyway, you 
wouldn’t even be censured, while the odds are I 
should lose my ticket. And I can no more help the 
state of things than you can.” 

“They couldn’t have kicked the old packet out of 
the harbor without your consent,” Trevor grumbled. 

“You make me tired. Of course they couldn’t. 
But, if you want to know the truth. I’ll just tell you 
how it stands. I protested all I knew, and at last 
that dirty Greek agent handed me a cablegram that 
had just come in hot from Liverpool. All the firm 
could understand was that the ship had been delayed 
ten days because I didn’t get her a crew, and all the 
time wages, and capital, and demurrage, and so on 
were running to waste. Natural they should look at 
it that way, I guess. So the cable gave Stephano- 
poulos clear instructions to fire me if I didn’t con- 
trive to get to sea in two days’ time, and give you 
my berth. Now, boy, what would you have done 
if you suddenly found yourself a full-blown skipper 


108 SHANGHAIED. 

on the one condition of taking a boat to sea short- 
handed ?” 

“Jumped at it, and cabled my girl I was coming 
home to marry her right off.” 

Captain Graham sighed drearily. “I married 
mine more years ago than I care to think about, and 
since then I’ve been keeping her and some little chaps 
she’s given me, by the only means I know, and that’s 
by carrying out the firm’s instructions. It’s you 
giddy bachelors that jibe at things. You wait, boy, 
till you’re married, and the house begins to fill, and 
you’ll tuck in your tail, and sing small, and take 
risks, and see accidents don’t happen, and grow gray 
hairs like the rest of us.” 

The big mate rubbed his chin uncomfortably. 
“Ye — es, it isn’t much of a prospect by all accounts. 
Well, I’m sorry I grumbled, sir. I’ll do my best, 
of course, and for the present I suppose I’d better re- 
lieve the second mate at the wheel. Glosh ! but it’s 
a bit tough when you haven’t even deckhands enough 
to take one wheel a watch.” 

And to the squat little second mate when he re- 
lieved him, and had received the course, in reply to 
a grunted question, he said : “Oh, the usual, no bally 
use. The Old Man hates it as much as we do. But 
there’s no choice. Who wouldn’t sell a farm and 
go to sea ?” 


SHANGHAIED. 


109 


The squat little second mate grunted his annoy- 
ance. He was never a man of words. 

At midnight Trevor and the second engineer, both 
of them leaden-lidded and sick for the want of sleep, 
went to the fireman’s forecastle and by blows and 
curses got together a watch to relieve the one below, 
and driving these before him, the second engineer 
was going to return to his regions of coal dust and 
oil. 

But when they stepped out once more on to the 
reeling main deck under the starlight, Trevor 
stopped him. “Look here, Mac, fair dos. I’ve 
helped you with your mob, so just bear a hand with 
mine.” 

“My name’s not Mac, but I’m ready to help. 
What’s the trouble?” He pulled a heavy three- 
quarter inch spanner out of his jacket pocket. 
“Anything in this line?” 

“Oh, I should say they’re all too sick to offer any 
fighting. Our crowd’s been shanghaied just like 
yours, only ours has had the strongest dose. Here, 
come in. Glosh! Doesn’t it look like an under- 
taker’s storeroom?” 

“Stinks like one. Phew ! Cross between a next- 
morning public house and a stale chemist’s shop. 
Merry life of it an old sailor seems to have.” 

“You never said a truer word, Notmac, my boy. 


110 


SHANGHAIED. 


Let it be a lesson to you. Don’t you ever curse an 
engine-room again. Here, let me clean up the globe 
of the incandescent a bit, and have a wink more light 
on this scene of beauty. Glosh ! Think of those as 
deckhands. Half of them snoring like apoplexy, 
and the other half of them not breathing at all. Just 
put your hand on this joker’s head, Notmac.” 

“My Christmas ! he’s dead !” 

“Dead as Julius Caesar. Healthy sort of joke that 
to play on a man, isn’t it ? How they think I’m go- 
ing to work this packet across the big drink, glosh 
knows.” 

“Has that poor wretch been drugged to death?” 
asked the second engineer with a scared look. 

The big mate made a quick examination, and 
brought away his hand all reddened. “The chap’s 
head’s been caved in; sandbagged, probably; they' 
were pretty hard nuts ashore. But being sorry for 
him doesn’t provide me with deckhands, does it? 
Send me up a firebar, Notmac, and I’ll make it fast 
to Julius Caesar’s heels, and we’ll drop him over into 
the ditch when some of the others come- to a bit to- 
morrow. Now, who’s in this next bunk? Oh, yes, 
the small man with the nose and the red peaked 
beard. You don’t look particularly healthy, my 
tulip. Here, come out of that, and let’s look at you 
on the floor.” 


SHANGHAIED. 


Ill 


It was very clear evidence of the state in which 
poor Captain Kettle then was, that he bore his rough 
decanting without so much as the feeblest protest. 
He lay there on the dirty deck planks of that sailors’ 
forecastle with eyes half shut and breathing ster- 
torous. 

The two officers eyed him with doubtful looks. 
They exchanged their opinions in high voices, as the 
noise of the seas which beat on the plates outside 
filled the place with clangor. 

“Now, that’s a man,” said the engineer, “that 
could give trouble if there was only a bit 
more of him. Look at that face, and look at that 
jaw.” 

“That’s a man that will have to work,” said 
Trevor, “and if he doesn’t work willingly, he’ll work 
otherwise. He hasn’t the look of a deckhand, I’ll 
admit. He may be fifty things. But here he is, 
and deckhand he’s got to be, and there’s no mistake 
about it that he will work as such. It’s my job to 
see that he does. That’s what I’m mate of this 
packet for, Notmac.” 

“Well, you may be thankful there’s not much of 
him,” the engineer persisted. 

The half-naked little form on the swaying deck 
stirred uneasily, and struggled stiffly up on to an 
elbow. The dull eyes unlidded themselves a trifle 


112 


SHANGHAIED. 


further. A dry, half-choked voice gasped out: 
“Size is no object to me. I’ve tackled three as big 
as you and — bashed their heads together. Yes, by 
James, and — can do it again.” 

“Glosh!” cried Trevor. “How’s that for a half- 
dead bantam?” 

“Hear the way he speaks though,” said the en- 
gineer. “The chap’s got a mouth on him like the 
bottom of a parrot cage.” 

He picked up a tin mug from one of the lockers, 
went outside on to the main deck to fill it, and re- 
turned. He held it toward Kettle with rough kind- 
ness. “Here, squire, let that sizzle down over your 
coppers. I’ve been on the tiles myself, and know 
what it’s like.” 

“Tiles?” Kettle glared at the Samaritan, but 
drank thirstily none the less. “Tiles! Are you a 
doctor? Great James, no. You’re a split- 
trousered mechanic. This isn’t the boarding-house, 
either.” 

“It’s your boarding-house, my man, till we 
get to Liverpool,” said the big mate, with grim 
geniality. “So you’d better make the pleasantest 
of it.” 

Captain Kettle shuddered, blinked, and stared 
around him. “A bally fo’c’stle! A stinking half- 
wedge of an electric-lighted steamboat’s fo’c’stle. 


SHANGHAIED. 


113 


And you’re Mr. Mate, I suppose. Oh, great James ! 
my head. I’ve been shanghaied, and that’s what’s 
the matter with me.” 

He tottered to his feet, and stood there swaying. 
Then his dulled eye fell on his clothing, and his cheek 
lit up with blushes. 

In person and attire it was his pride to be one of 
the neatest and sprucest of men, and here he was, 
filthy and disreputable beyond words. He was 
figged out in, a faded blue dungaree overall, an in- 
genious garment made all in one piece, which is af- 
fected by American mechanics, and the patients in 
the epileptic-idiot wards of British asylums. His 
feet were bare and dirty; his head was bare and 
towsled; his red peaked beard was a nest of litter; 
his hands were black; the overalls themselves were 
gratuitously daubed with grease and grime. 

Trevor watched the passage of his eye. “You 
don’t seem to admire yourself. I must say you are 
a filthy-looking beachcomber. But if you’ll clean up 
a bit, I’ll see if I can’t get some duds out of the slop 
chest that will be down to your size. After that, 
you quite understand, you’ll have to turn to. I won- 
der if you’re man enough to twig a course, if it’s 
given you, and take^a wheel.” 

Captain Kettle made a few remarks about the slop 
chest, and the mate’s personal appearance, and other 


114 


SHANGHAIED. 


matters that were very much to the point. He 
had seldom used his bitter little tongue with more 
effect. 

Trevor winced. “Now clearly understand, you 
ugly little ruffian, that I’m your superior officer, and 
I’ll take no purple language from you or any one else 
with whiskers on.” 

“You’ll just take what’s given you,” replied Ket- 
tle, with open truculence, and then they closed. 

The big mate, confident in his thews and his pro- 
fessional skill as a fighting man, made the initial 
mistake of despising his antagonist, and as a conse- 
quence, before enough time had passed for one of 
his sledgehammer blows to get home, he tore himself 
away from the struggle with a shriek of surprise and 
pain, and stood back with fingers carefully fumbling 
at one of his eyeballs. 

The engineer lifted his spanner threateningly. 
“Has the beggar stabbed you ?” 

“Stabbed, no. But he got his thumb in my eye- 
socket, and by glosh, he darned nearly had the eye- 
ball out.” 

Kettle staggered to a sea-chest, and sat there sick 
and half fainting. “I never — gouge,” he gasped, 
“if there’s anything else — to be done. But I’m 
poorly now and not up to form. If you’ll wait an 
hour or 50 — till I’ve — pulled round — I’ll fight you 


SHANGHAIED. 


115 


level. If you come at me again now — I’ll have that 
eye clean out and — tread on it.” 

Trevor looked at him thoughtfully. “You’re a 
fair sportsman, and that’s a fact. I wonder what the 
blazes to do with you.” 

“Send me back, and we’ll call it quits. I’ve some 
very pressing business ashore.” 

“Oh, it’s probable we shall turn the packet round 
and steam back just for your convenience. Perhaps 
you’d like to navigate her in yourself?” 

“Why, of course, if I’m wanted. I know the fair- 
way into the harbor as well as any of those blessed 
dago pilots.” 

Trevor tenderly rubbed at his bruised eyeball. 
“Now look here, my man, who might you be? You 
aren’t an Argentine farmer, and you don’t seem 
quite a deckhand. But for the sake of fiction, I’d 
just like to have your own account of yourself be- 
fore I turn you to on a job.” 

“Kettle’s my name, and I held a master’s ticket 
when you were being spanked on a training ship.” 

“Not by any chance the captain,” interrupted the 
engineer, “who brought in the Ashville the day be- 
fore we sailed?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And fitted her with a new tail-shaft in mid- 
ocean ?” 


116 


SHANGHAIED. 


“Well, you see, some one had to do it.” 

“My Christmas, but it’s a thing that’s only been 
done six times in all history. We mustn’t make you 
a deckhand here.” 

“Steady on,” said Trevor warningly. “You go 
slow, Notmac, and keep your spare philanthropy for 
the stokehold. I’m very sorry for Captain Kettle’s 
misfortunes, but I don’t see how we can spare a sin- 
gle one of our hands who have signed on as such. 
As for running back to put him ashore on South 
America again, of course that’s skittles. However, 
it’s a thing our Old Man shall decide, and in the 
meanwhile, as none of these gentlemen in the fore- 
castle seem ripe for work just now, they’d better 
stay below for another watch, and finish snoring off 
their drug.” 

Now, Captain Graham was an easy-going man, and 
his great ambition at sea was to work his ship be- 
tween ports with the smallest outlay of trouble. The 
big mate reported to him when he came on the bridge 
yawning and blinking, in the morning, that one of 
the new shipped deckhands was “a stone broke skip- 
per of sorts, according to his own account,” and 
asked for instructions. 

Captain Graham swigged thirstily at his coffee. 
“Oh, I’m afraid he’ll have to turn to. You mates 
are put on already, far more than’s proper. I dare- 


SHANGHAIED. 


m 


say this man Kettle’s had bad luck, but he must 
stand to it like the rest of us have to. What’s the 
matter with your eye? Have you been trying to 
break him up, and did he paste you ? Do you want 
me to come down and bear a hand ?” 

“When I want your help, sir, I’ll come and ask 
you for it, and till then I’m mate of this packet, and 
I know my job, and can do it. I only wanted to 
know where I stood.” 

Now, part of the professional equipment of mates 
in the British merchant service is a sound knowdedge 
of the arts of man-driving and self-defence, and 
Trevor flattered himself that few men living could 
give him lessons on either subject. But he was sen- 
sible enough to take precautions, and, having had 
already one taste of the quality of the little person 
with the red peaked beard, was in no mood for fur- 
ther surprises. If Kettle, in a half-fainting condi- 
tion, could very nearly gouge him, Kettle refreshed 
by another eight hours’ sleep might well be dan- 
gerous. 

So on his next visit to the forecastle he took with 
him a revolver, and was prepared, if necessary, to 
use it, as the law of mates directs. The other lodg- 
ers in the forecastle might have come to their senses 
by this time (those of them who did not happen to 
be dead, that is) and outraged humanity of that 


118 


SHANGHAIED. 


class is apt to be violent. Indeed, it took an officer 
with a lot of full-blooded courage to go near that 
forecastle at all. 

But, as it chanced, Captain Kettle had waked up 
some half hour previously, had glared with disgust 
at his own personal uncleanliness, and had gone out 
to wash himself. Instinct made him pick a belaying 
pin out of the rail, and instinct was presently mak- 
ing him use it. The big mate came to the forecastle 
doorway, and threw into it a roar of sound. “Now, 
you skulkers, turn out. Where’s that man Kettle? 
I’m going to have him turn out first of all.” 

“I’ve told you who I am,” said Kettle dangerously. 

“And I’ve told the Old Man, and he says he’s 
the only captain on this packet, and we carry no 
passengers. So you’ll just turn to. You hear 
me?” 

What followed passed quickly. Kettle rushed, and 
the mate flung up his pistol hand for a snap shot. 
The belaying pin crashed sideways on to the mate’s 
wrist, and a lighter bone would have cracked. As 
it was, the revolver clattered down on to the deck, 
and Kettle was driving the big mate aft under a 
shower of blows. Captain Owen Kettle, from long 
acquaintance with that weapon, was an artist with 
a belaying pin. He knew where to hit, and how 
to hit, and, moreover, he kept on hitting. He 


shanghaied. 


119 


showed exquisite skill in contriving that his oppo- 
nent should have no chance to turn. 

Right across the main deck did he chivvy Mr. 
Trevor and into the starboard alleyway, where that 
unfortunate man dived into the engineer’s mess- 
room, and slammed the door. But there the little 
sailor turned, and made his way sharply back to 
the forecastle. 

The revolver had vanished, but he made a sharp 
demand for it. “Now, look here,” he said, “that’s 
my gun, and I want it handed over quick, or I’ll 
wade in and murder the lot of you.” 

The weapon was surrendered with nervous hurry. 
“If you’re going to stick up for our rights, pard, 
I’m on,” said one. “The shark that shanghaied us 
will have touched all our advance notes, and there’ll 
be no wages to pocket at the other end, unless we put 
in a fresh claim and get 'the skipper to agree. I got 
no use for working for nothing.” 

“What are you all? Deckhands?” 

“You can log us as such.” 

“Well and good. I should advise you to turn to, 
or you’ll have the mates coming in here and red 
war made.” 

“ But,” gasped the fellow, “ that’s just 
what you’ve been fighting against yourself, 
pard.” 


120 


SHANGHAIED. 


‘Til thank you to call me ‘sir,' when you speak. 
I’m Captain Owen Kettle, and your superior, and 
what I choose to do is no bally concern of yours. By 
James, no! I’m a man that requires respect, and 
gets it.” 

Captain Kettle cocked his chin, and marched out 
of the forecastle on to the main deck. At the star- 
board side of the upper deck a very indignant mate 
was trying to convince that easy-going person, Cap- 
tain Graham, that the forward end of the ship was 
in a state of rapid mutiny, and that he had been set 
upon by a coalition of the whole of the deckhands. 
Kettle saw, heard and hankered. His alone was the 
credit of the overthrow, and he was keenly desirous 
of going up to claim it, and to partake in whatever 
other scuffle might follow upon such a rash an- 
nouncement. 

But the obscene filth of that one garment that cov- 
ered his nakedness flashed up into his mind, and, 
with warm blushes covering him, he made for the 
port ladder, and ran nimbly and silently up to the 
upper deck. One door of the chart-house lay open 
before him. He stepped inside, closing it sharply. 
Captain Graham and Trevor were within a yard of 
the starboard door, and at the slam, were disturbed 
for an instant in their conversation. 

But before they knew of the invasion, and cer- 


SHANGHAIED. 


121 


tainly before they had any idea of taking action, 
Kettle stepped across the chart-house deck, and 
swung-to that door also, shooting the heavy brass 
bolts at its head and foot. Then he paid similar 
attention to the door he had entered by, and by that 
time the starboard porthole framed segments of the 
faces of Captain Graham and his mate, flushed in 
color, and emitting quarrelsome language. 

There were three other portholes to the chart- 
house, and Kettle closed them all, screwing home the 
clamps, and sliding over each the green curtain 
which ran on a rod above it, all to a fine accompani- 
ment of remarks from the two onlookers. He came 
to them at last. 

“If you’ll be advised, by me,” he said, “you’ll take 
those faces away from here and tow them over- 
board for half an hour to cool. At the end of that 
time I shall have leisure to talk to you again.” 
With which remark he slammed the heavy, brass- 
framed glass against their noses, screwed home the 
clamps, and coyly shrouded that also with its ap- 
pointed blind. Then, with disgusted fingers, he 
stripped from his body the comprehensive garment 
in which he stood, swung down and filled Captain 
Graham’s folding washbasin, and gave his spare, 
muscular little body a most thorough grooming. 

Outside the stronghold threats were being pelted 


SHANGHAIED. 


122 


at him with noisy vehemence. But he was too much 
engaged in the pleasures of the toilet to find leis- 
ure for suitable retort. He overhauled the drawers 
and lockers which held Captain Graham’s spare ap- 
parel, and viewed each item with renewed distaste. 
The waistcoats lacked buttons, the shirts and collars 
were badly got up, the sleeves of the coats were 
ragged in the cuff. But in a distant corner Kettle 
discovered the usual biscuit-box containing needles 
and thread, and after attiring himself in a shirt and 
white drill trousers, proceeded to darn a pair of 
socks, to mend a pair of canvas shoes, to repair a 
waistcoat, and finally to take in the back seams of 
a white drill coat so as to fit the more slender lines of 
his own slim figure. 

In the meanwhile there was no attempt at storm- 
ing his fortress. The chart-house w r as built of iron, 
and its doors were of three-inch teak, and, although 
its outraged proprietor might by the aid of the car- 
penter have battered down a door, or stove in the 
glass of a port, he possessed an uncomfortable feel- 
ing that the invader still carried his belaying pin and 
the mate’s revolver, and would certainly use both 
vigorously before he was captured. 

Trevor was all for an immediate assault. He was 
a man of full-blooded courage, and felt deeply the 
insults hie had already received himself, the insult to 


SHANGHAIED. 


i23 


the ship, and the insult to his captain, and spoke of 
them all in bitter words. But Captain Graham was 
an easy-going man. He said that one-half bottle of 
rye whiskey represented all the provisions in the 
chart-house, and that in due time the invader would 
come out weak with hunger, and surrender himself 
to justice without a scuffle. 

“It’s no use getting on a high horse,” said 
Graham placidly. “If we bashed down one of the 
chart-house doors, it would be a bigger job than 
Chips could repair on board, and it would have to 
be reported to the superintendent ashore, and as 
likely as not he’d hand it on to the office, and then 
there’d be paraffin in the fire.” 

“Well, I don’t know,” grumbled the big mate. 

“Oh, you’d like to shine as a warrior, would you? 
Well, I’ve given up being martial. I like to take 
things easy, and if you let ’em alone long enough,, it’s 
surprising how often they come out all right.” 

Now, Captain Kettle had been under no illusions 
about the victualing of his fortress. With pocket 
knife and needle he unpicked, re-cut, and stitched till 
he had produced a well-fitting jacket. He arrayed 
himself in it, looked himself carefully over in the 
small rectangular glass above the washstand, and 
then frowned and took it off again. The edges of the 
sleeves were frayed, and he abused Captain Graham 


124 


SHANGHAIED. 


as he set to work and turned them in. Then, when 
finally dressed, he took out the whiskey bottle 
(which he had found long before), helped himself 
to a stiff second mate’s nip, opened one of the ports, 
and pressed the button of the electric bell. 

The captain’s steward came up from below, and 
after some hurried instructions, rapped at the door, 
and said “Yessir.” 

“Bring tea,” Kettle demanded, “and some good 
thick corned beef sandwiches with pickles in them.” 

“Yessir. Shall I come and lay a cloth in 
there ?” 

“No. You can hand the stuff in through the 
port.” 

The legitimate tenant of the chart-house was close 
outside, and this last request was too much for even 
his easy-going temper. “Hand somewhere-hot in 
through the port. Come out, you skulking, dirty 
pirate, and face the music like a man. You filthy, 
crawling beachcomber, d’ye think I’ll let you order 
victuals like that aboard of me ?” 

The bolts of the door snapped back, the lock and 
the handle turned, and there was Captain Kettle on 
the threshhold, spruce, truculent and ready. 

“If you want a row, by James, I’m not the man 
to balk you. My name is Captain O. Kettle, as I’ve 
informed Mr. Mate already, and as you’ve got me on 


SHANGHAIED. 


125 


this packet against my convenience, you’ve jolly well 
got to treat me with proper respect, or I’ll make hay 
round here in a way that will surprise you.” 

“I don’t see what you can do,” the other grumbled 
doubtfully. 

“If you want to see, just mention it,” retorted 
Kettle. 

“You’ve got the pistol, I’ll admit. But there are 
only four chambers loaded, so Trevor said, and even 
if you did contrive to make use of those, there’d be 
plenty of us left to swamp you. Besides, you 
needn’t be sure of hitting anybody at all. Pistol 
shots miss.” 

“Mine don’t. If you’ll put your pipe in your 
mouth, I’ll break the stem of it for you at ten yards 
every time.” 

“My pipe does very well as it is,” said Graham 
drily. “Look here, suppose you go down below and 
get a meal, and then we’ll talk.” 

“I prefer my own orders to be carried out. I told 
your steward to bring tea and corned beef sand- 
wiches in here, and it’s right here I want them. If 
you’d like a final clincher as to why I’m going to 
have my own way, look at this.” He brought from 
his pocket a sheaf of documents, tied together with 
spun yarn and weighted with a heavy leaden ink 
bottle. “Here’s your ship’s papers. Now, if you 


126 SHANGHAIED. 

begin to worry me, over into the ditch they go as a 
start.” 

This was too much for even Graham’s equanimity. 

“Good Heavens, man, if you throw those over- 
board you’ll ruin me.” 

“D’ye suppose I don’t know that?” 

“Well, man, have some consideration.” 

“Why should I? What consideration have you 
shown for me? I was shanghaied, which is an ac- 
cident, I’ll admit, if you like, that might happen to 
anybody. I find myself in your beastly fo’c’stle. I 
send aft my name, and mention that I carry a mas- 
ter’s ticket. Do you give word that I’m to be 
treated as one gentleman should treat another who 
has met with misfortune? Not you. You tell the 
mate to turn me on as a deckhand, and break me up 
if I turn rusty. Well, Mr. Mate was well inten- 
tioned, but the job was beyond his limit. I’ve broke 
up six the size of Mr. Mate before now all at once, 
and all on my very own. So that’s how we 
stand, and now I’d like to hear the rest of the 
programme.” 

“If you put back those papers where you took 
them from, there’s a spare room down below that 
you can have for the run home.” 

The little sailor put the papers in a drawer beside 
him, locked it, and threw Graham the keys. 


SHANGHAIED. 


127 


“But if you think you’re going to come aboard of 
me, and take charge, and scoff my clothes, and grab 
free passages all for nothing, well, there you make a 
mistake. I shall give you in charge as soon as she 
is docked, and we’ll see what a magistrate’s got to 
say on the subject.” 

“About that you can do as you choose. But in 
the meanwhile I want that tea and sandwiches. 
Slack seems to do for you, Captain, but while I’m 
here, that steward’s got to be smart if he’s going 
to avoid trouble with me.” 

Now Captain Kettle’s dignity had been badly hurt, 
and this was an offence he did not forgive easily. 
Captain Graham, to save himself trouble, was dis- 
posed to hold out the olive branch; but he did this 
neither gracefully nor often; and Kettle was dis- 
posed to take no half advances. The engineer who 
went by the name of Notmac was openly full of ad- 
miration for that repair of a tail-shaft at sea, but 
Kettle respected himself too much to come down to 
familiar terms with a mere subordinate engineer; 
and as for Trevor, the pair of them never met with- 
out preparing for battle. 

Kettle lived for the most part in the room which 
had been assigned to him, eating there, and on oc- 
casion, it is to be supposed, taking some rest, though 
no one on board through all the voyage caught him 


128 


SHANGHAIED. 


with a shut eye. For occupation he had procured 
paper and a piece of pencil, and produced verse of 
such pleasing quality, that at times it even found 
favor with that severe critic, himself. 

But on the whole, the ship’s officers had leisure to 
give him little enough attention. The hardly used 
crew were in a state of chronic mutiny. Twice, in- 
deed, they sent deputations to that successful muti- 
neer, Captain Kettle, praying that he would lead 
them in any kind of outbreak he cared to organize. 
But Kettle was intensely loyal to his cloth, and 
drove these back with tongue and toe, and they had 
to content themselves with unorganized measures, 
which consisted chiefly of passive disobedience to 
orders. The vessel had bad luck in the way of 
weather also, and it is probable that few 6,000 ton 
tramps have ever wallowed more uncomfortably 
home across the two Atlantics. 

Still, there is a deadly certainty about steam, and 
the big cargo boat pegged away, reeling off the knots 
with a callous disregard for the personal discomforts 
of her population; and the nearer he got to home, 
so much the nearer did Captain Kettle see an un- 
sympathetic magistrate, with the door of an ugly 
jail just behind his elbow. He himself was a man 
with an instinctive dread of shore law, and at sea 
made the law for himself. But he grew an opinion 


SHANGHAIED. 


129 


that Graham was his opposite in this respect. 
Graham had proved openly that he was no hand at 
reforming an unruly crew on the spot, and Kettle 
naturally set him among that class which prefers to 
take its criminals before police or consular courts 
ashore. 

For himself, in this event, he saw no loophole. 
Papers he had none. He had been sent on board 
stripped. His name would be on the ship’s articles, 
signed with a cross — the shipping agent would have 
seen to that. The magistrate, on Captain Graham’s 
word, would decide his case in two minutes, and send 
him down for two months’ hard, if not more. For 
the disgrace of this he had small concern. But once 
in prison he could not earn money, and the mortgage 
on the Wharfedale farm where his family lived was 
dangerously overdue, and must be paid. It was this 
that decided him. 

The night they picked up the coast he raided the 
steward’s pantry, and carried to one of the quarter- 
boats bottles of water, a box of biscuits and four tins 
of meat. He cast off the awning, threw out the falls, 
cut the grips, and swung the davits. One of the 
deckhands saw him at this point, and out of sheer 
malice gave the alarm. A very angry Trevor 
dropped down off the upper bridge and came run- 
ning aft. Kettle lowered away handsomely on the 


130 


SHANGHAIED. 


falls, and the boat hit the water with a heavy smack, 
riding there at the end of her painter, and bumping 
dangerously alongside. 

Kettle had his pistol still, and had half a mind to 
stop its former owner with a shot. Out at sea he 
probably would have done so. But in soundings 
he grew more law-respecting. He reached out for 
the falls, and slid down to the boat almost at the 
pace of a dropping stone. 

The boat leaped and swayed beneath him, and 
water sliced up in heavy sheets between her and the 
steamer’s side. Kettle unhooked one of the blocks. 
The furious mate leaped to the fall of the other to 
haul it taut and spill the boat. But Kettle, with the 
tiller, contrived to jam that in the sheave, and pres- 
ently had managed to haggle through the fall with a 
table knife — the only cutlery he had got with him; 
and then in the nick of time, for the quarter-boat 
was swamping beneath him, cast off his painter, and 
bobbled away on the yeasty wake astern. 

The big steamboat slid out into the night ahead, 
and if she returned to find him, he did not see her. 
It was his business next to bale the boat clear, and 
afterward to ship his rudder and step the mast. 
Then, with lug-sail hoisted, he sat at the tiller and 
stood in for the coast. 

He reached it with the dawn, and concerning the 


SHANGHAIED. 


131 

future fate of the quarter-boat the present historian 
can tell nothing further. But Captain Owen Kettle, 
with an unbroken spirit, set out once more over the 
face of the country to find employment which would 
bring him in that most necessary income. 

As it happened, a report of that tramp steamer’s 
coming into dock has reached me. Captain Graham 
buttoned a collar on to his rumpled shirt, fitted in 
his three false teeth, and went ashore. He told the 
superintendent that the passage had been a beast, 
and that they had lost one of the quarter-boats in a 
breeze. He gave some details about the shanghaied 
crew. But he made no mention whatever of hav- 
ing entertained Captain Owen Kettle. He was an 
easy-going man. 

There was silence on the matter also from other 
quarters. “Glosh!” said Trevor to his friend, the 
second engineer, “I should like to put a spoke in that 
little beggar’s wheel, Notmac, even if our Old Man 
won’t.” 

“Still, I’ll bet you never do,” said the second en- 
gineer, and the second mate, who was never a person 
of words, grunted adhesion to this idea. 


CHAPTER V. 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 

“Funny name — Kettle,” said the fat man with 
the glass eye. 

“Shouldn’t advise you to tell him so,” snapped 
little O’Hagan. “He takes himself pretty seriously, 
and if some of us followed his example in that re- 
spect we should get through a lot more business. 
I’ve no use, personally, for making myself ridicu- 
lous.” 

Burke, the man with the glass eye, reddened with 
fury. 

“You know I only meant it as a joke, and the 
joke didn’t come off, that was all. How was I to 
guess they’d be such abject fools as to stop the ship, 
and send a diver down, and find there was no gun- 
cotton in the thing after all ? Any other navy with 
a cent’s worth of sense would have taken it for 
granted the thing was a torpedo and skipped. But 
those fool English were too dull to think they might 
get hurt, and they are as curious as monkeys. But” 
— he thumped the table — “I’ll have no more of this. 

132 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


133 


I may have made an error, but I have been twitted 
about it sufficiently. There was nothing criminal 
in what I did. No one ever suggested yet that I 
wasn’t thrue to Ireland. No one has ever chucked 
out hints that I was an informer.” 

“What!” the frail O’Hagan stamped to his feet. 

“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” The girl at the end 
of the table, who had sat still, biting her lip, during 
all this wrangle, interrupted them sharply. 

They broke off and faced her with some con- 
fusion. 

“I used to be cold and contemptuous,” she said 
bitterly, “when I read in the English papers of some 
great Irish meeting described as ‘the usual Donny- 
brook.’ But now, when I see that taunt, it makes 
me hot with shame, because I know it is true. Can’t 
we even here learn to control ourselves, and stick to 
the business we’ve come about ? Is there some curse 
on the race that always makes us behave like frac- 
tious children?” 

O’Hagan bit his lips. “Miss Ffrench is right. 
We seem born with an unfortunate knack of riling 
one another. Burke, I beg your pardon. Let’s 
please consider all these last remarks eliminated, and 
get back to Captain Kettle. I don’t see what’s 
wrong with having him up right now.” 

“That suits me,” said Burke, “unless Miss Ffrench 


134 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


wants to give us any more pointers first. No? 
Then I’ll go and fetch him.” 

Presently Captain Kettle stepped briskly into the 
room, and bowed politely to the lady. “Most 
pleased to make your acquaintance, miss,” said he, 
on being presented. “Mr. Burke did not tell me 
this was a yachting job. I thought it was business.” 

Captain Kettle observed that the lady rebel was 
deliciously pretty, and put on his pleasantest manner. 
He had always had an eye for a good-looking 
woman. Indeed, Mrs. Kettle herself had first at- 
tracted him by her outward person, and it was not 
till after long acquaintanceship with her across the 
bar where she did business that he found those 
deeper qualities which brought him into her service, 
and held him there with such unwavering faith- 
fulness. 

Miss Ffrench knew her power, and used it to the 
full. She gave the spruce little sailor the kindest of 
looks, but it was the bitter O’ Hagan who thrust 
himself out as spokesman. 

“The employment we offer you, Captain, is not to 
conduct a yachting cruise, nor yet could it be ex- 
actly described as business. But until we learn 
your definite decision as to whether or not you are 
going to enter our employ, there are reasons why 
we should not be too precise. I’m putting the mat- 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


135 


ter frankly, you see, and if you’re offended I hope 
you won’t trouble to conceal it.” 

“If I’m offended, sir,” said Kettle, with acid po- 
liteness, “people usually know it without delay. But 
in this particular instance I’m not a man that can 
afford to pick and choose employment. As I told 
your Mr. Burke here, I’m in severe financial diffi- 
culties for the moment. You see, owing to agricul- 
tural depression, we’ve not been doing as well as 
could be expected, and there’s a mortgage on the 
farm.” 

“You are interested in agriculture?” said the girl. 
“Then you will be able to sympathize with poor 
Ireland.” 

“Certainly, miss; I’ve never been in Ireland my- 
self but once, and that was under rather distressful 
circumstances. But I made poetry about the coun- 
try that seemed to me to carry both tune and truth 
with it. There was one set of verses which began 
‘Peaceful isle of simple green,’ which appeared to 
me at the time singularly chaste and original. If 
you like, miss, and these gentlemen will excuse me, 
it would give me sincere pleasure to repeat them 
to you.” 

The girl’s lip quivered, and Burke blew his nose 
and wiped a tear out of the corner of his glass eye. 
O’Hagan frowned aside the interruption. “Come 


136 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


now, Captain, we’re wasting your time. Do you 
agree to join, and what’s your figure?” 

“You can have me as low as £14 a month, sir, and 
if the job looks like a permanency I might do it for 
even a trifle less. I’m very anxious for those at 
home to have a steady half-pay of mine to draw 
upon.” 

“Ah, I see.” O’ Hagan looked at him queerly. 
“What should you say now to £30 a month?” 

“I should say there was something fishy about it.” 

“There’ll be some risk.” 

“Any sailor man expects that.” 

“There’ll be fighting, too. I suppose that will put 
you off?” 

“If,” said Captain Kettle unpleasantly, “you’d 
done one-twentieth of the fighting I’ve put in at one 
time and another, you’d retire into private life.” 

O’ Hagan laughed and flushed with self-contempt. 
“I’m not a fighting man, and I admit it. I’ve a weak 
heart, and a weak nerve; but I can plan, and I can 
invent, and what we want is a man capable of carry- 
ing out the result of my plans and inventions. Come 
now, Captain, you must give us a plain answer. Do 
you join or not? It seems to me the job looks a bit 
too troublesome for your appetite, and we don’t 
want to have you refuse, and then go away and be 
able to talk.” 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


137 


“I’ve no choice about the matter, sir. I’ve got to 
have employment. I join, certainly.” 

Burke wavered an eye over him. “Isn’t there 
some story about the police rather wanting you? I 
don’t want to be rude, you know. It’s a thing that 
might happen to anybody.” 

Captain Kettle pulled at his red torpedo beard. 
“I’ll not deny, sir, that I’ve been in trouble. But 
I’ve heard of no warrant being out, and it wouldn’t 
surprise me if none was issued. They’d nothing to 
be proud of. There was just me — one man — and 
I very sick at the time, and hadn’t so much as a gun 
to help things along with. On their side there was 
a whole army of them, with certainly one pistol fit 
for business, and a whole ship stuck full of belaying 
pins. It doesn’t matter what the difference was 
about, but there’s the odds, and when we had our 
scrap I came out on top, yes, and, by James ! could 
do it again. They let me crow over them from start 
to finish, and you don’t tell me they’d want to reel 
out a yarn like that before a stipendiary, which 
they’d have to do before they could get a war- 
rant.” 

The girl’s face glowed as she listened. She stood 
up and shook Captain Kettle’s hand. “You are just 
the brave man we want,” she cried. “I can see it. 
The justice of our cause you will come to appre- 


138 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


date later. But to begin with, you are a man who 
loves a fight for a fight’s sake.” 

Kettle dropped the lady’s hand and sighed heavily. 
“That’s true, miss. Heaven knows it’s true, and 
that it’s my greatest weakness. Ashore in England 
I try to live a Christian life, and have met with con- 
siderable success in the attempt. You may have 
heard of the Wharfedale Particular Methodists? 
I’m founder of that sect, miss, and we’ve probably 
got a more sharply defined creed than any other re- 
ligious body on earth. But when I’m away from 
England, or when I’m at sea — well, circumstances 
have always been too strong for me.” 

“I don’t know,” said O’Hagan unpleasantly, 
“whether a gentleman with such powerful convic- 
tions as these won’t want to press them upon our 
notice at inopportune moments.” 

Captain Kettle stiffened at once. ‘*My shore con- 
victions need be no concern of yours, sir. They 
were brought out entirely for the lady here. You 
offer £30 a month, and I take it, and will carry 
out my orders. I’m loyal always to the owner who 
pays me, and that’s all a shipmaster’s conscience has 
to trouble itself with when he’s on service. If there’s 
anything dicky, or if there’s anything wrong done, 
that’s the owner’s lookout.” 

Burke blinked cheerfully with his glass eye. 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


139 


“You’re quite a theologian, Captain. Well, call that 
settled, then. Here are three fivers, by way of your 
first month’s half-pay, in advance. You’re at the 
same temperance hotel, I suppose?” 

“Yes, sir. If you think I ought to move to more 
respectable quarters, I can afford it now.” 

“Not at all. Great thing is to keep inconspicu- 
ous. Go and enjoy yourself for the rest of the day, 
Captain. I’ll call upon you about 11.30 to-night.” 

Now the three people who remained behind in 
that room were conspirators who were straining 
every nerve to be dangerous. O’Hagan was an in- 
ventor ; the sardonic Burke was a clever agitator of 
the underground type; and the girl, with her good 
birth, her magnificent beauty, her splendid voice, 
and her passionate eloquence, was one of those rare 
orators that the centuries now. and then bring forth 
with power to win great audiences over to any cause. 
Ireland was their country, and a blind ecstatic hatred 
for England formed their motive power. But this 
last point they did not yet bring to the notice of 
Captain Owen Kettle. They preferred to have their 
recruits thoroughly involved before they trusted 
them in any way deeply. 

As a cloak to their larger object Burke and Miss 
Ffrench addressed frothy meetings (when they 
could not contrive to get these suppressed by the 


140 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


police), and in other ways contributed to keep up 
in Ireland that social atmosphere which has existed 
there ever since political explosives were first in- 
vented. The little O’Hagan worked as a fitter in an 
engineer’s shop, and earned there a steady three 
pound ten a week. 

Miss Ffrench was interviewed by the papers, had 
her photographs (very lovely photographs) pub- 
lished, and was commented upon by the public 
prints in varying degrees of kindness. Burke, strive 
though he might, could never bring himself into 
prominent notice without an accompanying spell of 
jail, which, being a man of tender tooth, he de- 
tested. 

O’Hagan kept out of the public eye entirely. He 
was a fellow of infinite disappointments. He was a 
clever inventor who lacked commercial aptitude. 
Nine-tenths of his patents were never taken up, and 
the remaining tenth were stolen from him by urbane 
employers; and somewhat naturally he bit against 
fate. A chance speech of Miss Ffrench pointed out 
to him clearly that the other name for fate was Eng- 
land, and he jumped eagerly at the chance of doing 
that country harm. Especially did the opportunity 
please him, since here at last was a chance of dis- 
playing the value of his adored inventions. 

To evolve from these ingredients, then, the scheme 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


141 


for building a submarine torpedo boat designed to 
blow up the ships of the British navy, one by one, 
till that proud nation submitted to the sister island, 
was the easiest kind of effort imaginable. Getting 
the thing put into practical shape offered no very 
great difficulties. O’Hagan resigned his fitter’s 
bench, and the income therefrom, to live on sixteen 
shillings a week, and take over the drawing office 
and oversee construction. O’Hagan bubbled with 
vindictive invention. Miss Ffrench addressed great 
meetings of the Irish with silver tongue, hinted at 
an enormous weapon that was being forged for Eng- 
land’s overthrow, and drew in abundant subscrip- 
tions ; and Burke, who disliked settled work, made a 
great display of toil, and did nothing very effectively. 

Only on one point had this committee of three 
any difference of opinion, and that was over the site 
of the projected shipyard. Burke was all for Amer- 
ica. '‘You can build what you like in the States,” 
he said, "and no one will interfere. There will be 
no question of jail for any of us in America, and 
there might be here. Some one’s bound to inform. 
Besides, we’d get heaps of subscriptions from our 
folks in the States, and we’d be able to live a bit 
better than we can here in Dublin.” 

"I hate America,” said the girl bitterly, "and our 
renegade emigres over there. They froth, and they 


142 ' THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 

talk, and make themselves ridiculous, and in effect 
they do less than nothing for Ireland. I want to 
see the boat built here. , Surely we have not sunk 
so low that we cannot build our own avenger in our 
own country ?” 

“Might try Harland & Wolff,” said Burke, “but I 
doubt if they'd take on the contract. Belfast's 
Orange, you see.” 

“You laugh, but I don’t see that it’s at all impos- 
sible. The West Coast is lonely enough. Surely 
we could find some lonely island off Connemara, or 
County Mayo, or some great cave in the cliffs where 
we should be undisturbed.” 

“That's like they do in novels,” said Burke, “but 
unfortunately in practice it would be impossible. 
You've got to get your materials from somewhere, 
and the steamer people would talk, let alone hav- 
ing to reckon with the inevitable informer against 
your own workpeople. The brute Government 
would know all about the game from the word ‘go.’ ” 

“Of course they would,” said O’Hagan. “They 
always do, you know, although sometimes it suits 
them to play the thickhead and make out they don’t. 
But do you think they’d interfere? Not a bit. 
They’re too beastly contemptuous. Why, if we set 
up a works in Liverpool, and the crowd got to know, 
and tried to lynch us, they’d give us police protec- 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 143 

tion till we’d the thing launched and were ready to 
proceed against them. I hate the idea of going- 
out of Ireland. The sea makes me so horribly ill. 
I’d rather have an arm amputated than cross to Holy- 
head. But that’s what it’s got to be. I’m speak- 
ing as an engineer, and I tell you plainly this thing’s 
going to be built in no amateur workshop. The 
States would be best. They’ve got the best machine 
tools in the world over there; but I flatly refuse to 
cross the Atlantic under any consideration what- 
ever. So if you want my help — and you can’t do 
without me — it’s got to be England or nowhere.” 

It was this choice of a site for their building yard 
more than anything else which put poor needy Cap- 
tain Kettle off the scent of the end to which his new 
employment trended. A man more aggressively 
patriotic it would be impossible to find, but beyond 
the marches of Great Britain his sympathies were 
narrow. He had wandered widely, and (through 
bitter experience) had gathered a vast dislike for 
other nationalities. He was one of those aggressive 
Islanders who would as soon fight as shake hands 
with any foreigner. 

Once hired, Kettle was his owner’s man to keep 
the peace or make war, entirely as orders directed, 
and (except for this end) he took no private con- 
science to sea with him, Severe critics, who for one 


144 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


reason or another have no sword to sell, sneer at the 
trade of the mercenary, though there have been hon- 
orable men in the one occupation as in the other. 
But it never occurred to Captain Owen Kettle that 
people might criticise his actions from such an ab- 
stract standpoint, and if it had come to his knowledge 
the circumstance would not have ruffled him. 

He was a man who cared nothing for blame from 
any one except an owner, and usually looked upon 
praise as an impertinence. He was a man doing his 
utmost to earn money for the present maintenance 
of his family and a chapel, and carrying with him 
the ultimate hope of returning to these, and enjoying 
moreover the agricultural ease of a moorland farm. 

When he came to her, the submarine boat was 
practically finished, so far as the shore-going brain 
of O’EIagan could invent and design. Kettle looked 
her over, inside and out, with a critical eye. She 
was new to him, of course, entirely new, but all 
modern steamer sailors are, to a certain extent, en- 
gineers, and he took in her various points appre- 
ciatively. 

O’Hagan escorted him round, fluttering with 
anxiety that he should like everything, bitter and 
caustic at all his objections. Here were the hori- 
zontal rudders, actuated automatically by an inter- 
nal pendulum to prevent unpremeditated dives. In 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


145 


these sponsons were the vertical propellers to force 
her under water. The water ballast tanks were here 
and there, with independent ejector pumps to each. 
These were trimming tanks. There forward was the 
torpedo-room, and here was the .store of spare 
Whiteheads. The main engines were aft, three sets 
of them, four cylinders to each, water-cooled, ex- 
plosion gas-engines all. Here were the pumps for 
the water circulation. Here were petrol tanks. 
These were the carburetters, and did the Captain 
think spray carburetters would act pleasantly in a 
sea-way ? 

“Don’t know, sir,” said Kettle. “Outside my 
line. Steam’s all I know. It’s the first time I’ve 
struck these kerosene engines, and I must say they 
strike me as smelly. But do I understand you to 
say they’ve all to be started by hand ?” 

“Of course. Of course. Here’s the starting 
gear. It’s quite simple. If you understand any- 
thing about oil engines you’d know they must be 
started that way.” 

“I’ve just told you I didn’t. But as a navigating 
officer I’ve got to point out if I telegraphed for Tull 
speed’ on one of the engines, while you were grind- 
ing up one of your blessed handles, we’d either be 
into the next ship, or knocking a hole out of the 
ground if there was any handy.” 


146 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


“Not a bit of it, Captain. Once you are under 
weigh, the engines are kept running continuously. 
When you want the propellers, they are thrown into 
gear with these friction clutches. The same with 
the diving propellers on the sponsons.” 

“You’ve got a big head, sir,” said the little sailor 
admiringly. “I never saw so much strong machin- 
ery tied up tight into tangled knots during all my 
going to sea. Whether you’ll ever keep it in hand, 
James only knows. How do you go astern?” 

“These three friction clutches here. I’ve provi- 
sionally protected twenty-three clutches in my time, 
but none of them have been taken up, and I’ve never 
been able to afford the full patents. You’ll find the 
best of them here, and they are real nailers. Some 
people would have used gear wheels, but I take no 
chances. Good clutches are dead safe.” 

“H’m, I don’t know. If you used helical bevels, 
I don’t think they would have been stripped. How- 
ever, it is a matter of opinion. You’ve only worm 
steering, I see. Pity you couldn’t give us power 

for that, too ,” and away they went off into 

technicalities. 

O’Hagan and Kettle alone appeared as officially 
connected with the building yard, and Burke and 
Miss Ffrench met them only under conditions of 
labored secrecy. “I know, Captain,” the girl said 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


147 


to him at the first of these mysterious gatherings, “a 
man like you will require no explanation of why we 

have to come together on the quiet like this ” 

she trusted that the little sailor would be ingenious 
enough to invent an explanation for himself, and he 
did it promptly. 

He winked a sharp eye at her. “There's no man 
in England understands the Foreign Enlistment Act 
better than me, miss. You leave it to me, and I’ll 
see we get the little packet snugly to sea. The Eng- 
lish Customs people are always a bit too late when 
it comes to stopping anybody. I’ve slipped through 
their fingers over a job like this five times already.” 

Miss Ffrench bit her lip. “Then you have guessed 
already the flag you are asked to help.” 

Kettle smiled genially. He always had ah eye for 
a pretty girl. “Why, yes, miss. Now you put it 
that way, I can see it clearly enough. You’re an 
American. I ought to have guessed it at once by 
your Irish accent. Well, I’m not much up on for- 
eigners as a rule, but I’m glad it’s no worse. I’ve 
known some very fine accordion players come out of 
America, and men that knew a good hymn tune when 
they heard one, too.” 

The first performance of the submarine boat at 
sea made up a story of unmitigated disaster. 
O’ Hagan, her constructor, with the horrors of mal 


148 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


de mer always before him, flatly refused to budge 
from shore. The machinery was in charge of the 
only three engineers they could pick up, and these all 
proved themselves incompetent. 

The antics of steam, and of steam machinery, they 
protested they carried at their fingers’ ends; but 
these explosion engines were new to them, and after 
a first trial of their infirmities they were not disposed 
to make many further efforts toward understanding 
them. Besides, they were seasick, abominably so, 
and for that matter everybody else on board the lit- 
tle vessel was seasick also. Even that toughened 
veteran, Captain Kettle, suffered from this devastat- 
ing ailment, and it was only by an effort of his 
tremendous will that he contrived to stick on at 
duty. 

The movements of the submarine were disgusting. 
In a sea-way, when she was on the surface, her 
rolling and pitching and wallowing was intolerable. 
When she took a dive, as often as not she would 
commence matters by turning a complete somersault, 
stern over stem, rattling about her unfortunate crew 
like peas shaken in a drum. 

The air for the gas engines and for breathing was 
officially supposed to come down two long flexible 
tubes, which towed outboard, and had their upper 
ends carried on the surface of the sea above, by 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


149 


means of highly ingenious floats. That is to say, 
in theory and on paper the floats were highly in- 
genious, but in practice they sometimes dragged un- 
der altogether, whereupon the explosions in the gas 
engines would weaken and cease, and the human 
manning of the craft would gasp and think the last 
minute of their life had then arrived. 

Under such infernal conditions, then, was this 
first trial trip carried out, and nothing but Captain 
Kettle’s venomous tongue and rough handling of 
each individual member of his crew held the horri- 
ble little craft at sea. He kept on repeating : “Wait 
till you are used to her, and then she will travel all 
right.” And as is mentioned above, he induced his 
crew to “wait” by methods peculiarly his own. 

But human endurance has its limits, and con- 
tinued seasickness under these conditions is one of 
the most devastating of ailments. One by one the 
crew relapsed into an unconsciousness from which 
neither beating nor vituperation would extract them, 
and at last the unpleasant truth was forced into Ket- 
tle’s aching head, that if he didn’t want his unpleas- 
ant command to become a mere derelict, he must run 
back forthwith to harbor. 

In his subsequent meeting with his employers, 
considerable temper was shown on all sides. 
O’Hagan, as inventor, held that the boat’s cQnstruc- 


150 


THE! SUBMARINE BOAT. 


tion was in every way correct, and that only bad 
handling made her unwieldy. Kettle, white-faced 
and ill, promptly went through that boat piecemeal, 
from her lubricators to her conning tower, and be- 
larded each point with offensive criticism. 

“You want pressure lubricators, any one but a 
shore-living drawing-office man, would have known 
that,” and he threw sarcasm on the existing lubricat- 
ors, and on a hundred other matters, in a way that 
made O’ Hagan bubble with helpless profanity — 
“and don’t you swear at me,” he wound up. “I’m 
in your employ, I know, but I’m a man used to re- 
spect, and, by James, I’ll have it! Besides, there’s a 
lady present, and I value her opinion too highly to 
talk back at you in the way you deserve.” 

Burke tapped the table. “Yes, yes, yes, it’s all 
very well, but while you’re squabbling over these 
technicalities, it strikes me the police may be here to 
arrest us any minute. I’ve no immediate need for 
another spell of jail myself.” 

“How’s that?” 

“Why, the Captain here has sacked all his crew, 
or they’ve deserted, which amounts to the same 
thing, and perhaps you think they won’t talk. I 
don’t see how the Government can avoid getting to 
know.” 

“Talk,” cried the bitter O’Hagan, “of course 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


151 


they’ll talk, but as for the fool Government, you 
needn’t be scared of them. You can bet your life 
they’ve known all about us from the first word start, 
and they’ve been too beastly contemptuous to stop 
us. You’d have to blow up half the British Empire 
before their muddy brains could understand there 
was anything wrong.” 

The man was very near blurting out dangerous 
truths, and Captain Kettle was beginning to get 
startled. Miss Ffrench took the situation firmly 
in hand. 

“Gentlemen, please, this wrangle must stop. We 
have all had a bitter disappointment, and Captain 
Kettle has undergone much physical suffering. He 
is the only man who has seen our boat in practical 
work, and his views should certainly be received with 
deference. I know he did not mean all the warmth 
of language he used in his criticisms to be taken 
literally. But even he does not wholly condemn 
the boat. He only insists on modifications which 
his practical experience has shown are necessary, 
and I am sure Mr. O’ Hagan’s genius will see a 
dozen ways past these difficulties.” 

The little sailor pressed a hand against his aching 
head. 

“Thank you, miss. It’s good of you to back me 
up like that. But I don’t think the job will suit me 


152 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


any further. I’m a poor man and I want money, 
but there’s a bit too much temper shown against the 
British Government for my taste. Now, I’m not 
here to defend them; they’ve treated me pretty 
toughly one time and another ; but when it comes to 
causing that Government pain (which it dawns upon 
me is what you’re after), why, there I’m the wrong 
man to help. I’m a Britisher first, last and all the 
time, and it doesn’t do for anybody to forget it.” 

The three conspirators did not dare to look at one 
another, but they all seemed struck with the same 
shiver. It was the girl who found presence of mind 
to promptly tackle the situation. Her voice was 
pleasantly sympathetic. 

“My dear Captain Kettle, didn’t you guess our 
real nationality for yourself? And I don’t think, 
according to the latest evening paper, that America 
is at war with England.” 

‘‘No, miss, that’s a fact. I fancy Spain’s giving 
the States all the trouble they’ve any use for at 
present.” 

“Ssh. It’s dangerous even to whisper these 
things, but as you’ve guessed half a secret, Captain, 
you may have the rest. So soon as your improve- 
ments are made, and the boat is in proper sea trim, 
we wish you to take her down to the coast of Spain 
and there begin her work.” 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


153 


“Well, I’ve no special objection to that. I’ve a 
poor opinion of all Dagos anyway. But if this is to 
be war, I’d like to have some sort of official guaran- 
tee it’s all right. You must pardon me for bring- 
ing up these business matters, miss, but I must point 
out to you that to every fight there’s an afterwards.” 

Miss Ffrench smiled brightly. “You are entirely 
right, Captain, and I will give you the best 
guarantee I can think of. I will come with you 
myself.” 

“And these other gentlemen?” 

“Oh, of course,” said Miss Ffrench, with a des- 
perate gaiety, “they’ll come, too, as my personal 
escort. Now, my dear Skipper, do go off to bed. 
You look worn out.” 

It was not at the next trial, or even at the next 
after this, that the submarine boat behaved with any- 
thing approaching efficiency. In fact, as a sea-going 
craft, she always hunted for disaster so hungrily 
that under no circumstances could she ever become 
popular as a mere vehicle. No one but a man as 
hard-up and desperate as Captain Owen Kettle would 
ever have consented to stay by her after so many 
damping experiences of her evil qualities. But the 
pay was there, at the rate of £30 a month, and it 
was paid each week with regularity, and the poor 
needy man could not afford to lose it. 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


154 

Finally came the day when she was reluctantly 
passed as fit for sea, and was ready to start off on 
her murderous cruise. Sheltered behind one excuse 
and another, up till now his three employers had al- 
ways stayed ashore, but Kettle showed plainly that 
he was not going without them, and so they had to 
come with him. 

Miss Ffrench joined last. She had been waiting 
ashore to bring off the last telegraphic news of the 
warship they were going to destroy, but once she 
came, the engines were started, Kettle gave his or- 
ders, and the uncomfortable vessel wallowed out of 
the river and rolled and pitched her way to sea, run- 
ning on the surface, with her full freeboard. 

Kettle set a course, and handed himself below to 
the stuffy little box of a cabin. The girl sat wedged 
in one corner, pale, but resolute-looking. 

“All going as you could wish, Captain ?” 

“Well, miss, as you see yourself, she isn’t ex- 
actly the Cunard for comfort, but nothing’s broken 
down yet, or offered to. My new chief thinks he 
knows all about gas engines, and says at the present 
rate of consumption we’ve got enough petrol in the 
tanks to carry us half round the world. I will say 
this — it’s a wonderful fuel for close stowage and 
bad scent. Are you sure that Spanish warship will 
wait in Ferrol till we get down to her?” 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 155 

“The ship will be there. I’ve got certain informa- 
tion.” 

“I can’t say I particularly like blowing up these 
poor wretches of Dagos. Wouldn’t smashing the 
propellers of their vessel do as well ?” 

“No. The blow must be a deadly one, or half of 
its effect will be lost. War is war, Captain, and the 
heavier you can hit, the sooner it can be ended.” 

Captain Kettle sighed. “I don’t like to see a 
pretty young lady like you taking up a murdering job 
like this. I suppose,” he added sympathetically, “the 
gentleman you were walking out with didn’t behave 
as he ought to have done, and that’s drove you to 
politics. I wish I could have come across him, miss. 
I’d have combed his hair for him. Yes, by James !” 

The voyage which followed on was one of unmiti- 
gated discomfort. The seas, as if disliking this 
new intruder, displayed to it their roughest humor. 
The boat picked up a gale in the Channel’s mouth, 
and carried it with her down to the Bay, where it was 
reinforced. Inside the evil-smelling, badly venti- 
lated hull all suffered from nausea and from chronic 
headache. There were no formal meals. They ate 
sardines and biscuits with their fingers, and every- 
thing they touched mired them with oil. Even that 
ultra cleanly person, Captain Kettle himself, could 
not keep his hands and clothing unsoiled. 


156 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


But there was no doubt about it that they were 
warmed up to the work ahead of them, and this alone 
kept them up to the abominable strain. At last, 
however, one afternoon they rounded Cape Ortegal, 
and with nightfall were round Cabo Prior, and then 
felt their way up to the entrance of Ferrol Harbor. 
They ran in with the conning tower just awash, and 
the air tubes in action, and tugging at their floats 
astern. Nearer and nearer they drew. Kettle held 
the spokes of the steering-wheel himself, and the girl 
stood beside him in the tower, white and panting 
with excitement. 

Presently, out of the night ahead, the outline of 
a great battleship loomed out. The girl was gripped 
with such a fierce excitement that it almost choked 
her. “That’s the one, Captain. Dive now — dive, 
please — dive. I order you to. Do you hear, I or- 
der you !” 

Kettle would have preferred to run closer. He 
knew the difficulty of steering a straight course un- 
der water, and had the order been given by one of 
his male employers he probably would have neg- 
lected it and followed his own opinion. He was 
never a man who cared for much interference. 

But with Miss Ffrench it was different. To be- 
gin with she was a lady, and there was the item that 
he liked her. He issued short, crisp orders, and the 


THE SUBMARINE BQAT. 


157 


boat rocked and sank, and he steered as well as he 
could by gyroscope and compass. A Whitehead 
torpedo was in its tube forward, and Burke, with his 
one sound eye glaring murder, crouched in the nar- 
row nose of the boat beside it, ready on the word 
to start its engines and send it forth to devastate. 
Captain Kettle in the tower calculated his distances 
and watched the dial of the log. They were only 
eight hundred yards away now. He would give the 
order to fire at one hundred and fifty. 

Then softly there came to him the sound of some 
of the cylinders of one of the engines “cutting out,” 
a sound which by this time he had got by heart. 
Then that engine — the port engine — stopped, and he 
had the pleasing knowledge that, in spite of a hard- 
ported helm, the boat was beginning to turn round 
in a circle. 

He used all the encouraging language he could 
command down the voice tube, and as this had no 
effect, he left the useless wheel and went himself to 
the engines. 

A very tired, white-faced engineer pointed to the 
damage with a spanner. “Ball-tap’s jammed in the 
carburetter, and I can’t bash it clear from outside. 
Take me a couple of hours to get it pulled down and 
fixed up right again.” 

“Where’s O’Hagan?” 


158 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


“Drugged silly, as per usual. He’s By 

George, Captain, look at that! There are those 
two air tubes fouled and sucked under. Get us up 
quick out of this, or we shall stay down here for good 
and suffocate. There, you see, the other engines 
were beginning to stop before I cut off the gas. Now 
we shall have to sweat those blessed ballast tanks 
empty with the hand-pump. Who wouldn’t 
sell a works ashore and come to sea in a sub- 
marine !” 

The boat was pumped ignominiously back to the 
surface in this manner then, and arrived there to 
find itself in the middle of a blaze of radiance pro- 
jected from a warship’s searchlight. When the 
hatch was taken off, and the white strained faces 
came out gasping for breath, a couple of smart white 
picket boats steamed up, and their officers and crews 
had the appearance of a storming party. 

But with the arrival into the light of Miss Ffrench 
this attitude was changed. A beautifully blushing 
young English sub-lieutenant saluted, and presented 
Captain somebody or other’s compliments, and 
wouldn’t the lady and her friends come on board and 
sup. 

There are some invitations which it is ungracious 
to refuse, and others which it is unsafe to decline. 
Captain Kettle, sick with disgust at finding he had 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


159 


been tricked into an attempt at torpedoing a British 
ship, was going to blurt out that they were pirates 
and could only come on board to be hung. But the 
girl interrupted him. “Please let me speak. It is 
the last thing I shall ever ask. And I will explain 
to you afterward. Just say nothing now.” 

So she pleasantly accepted the sub-lieutenant’s of- 
fer, and while the crew of them got into his picket 
boat, the other picket boat took over the submarine 
for examination. 

“We thought you were a whale,” said their pink- 
cheeked host, “that had got touched up by some- 
body’s propeller. I can tell you you made no end of 
a swirl. Nasty, stuffy things those under- water 
boats I should think, aren’t they? Here we are at 
our ladder. Just excuse me a moment while I go 
and report to the skipper, will you ?” 

With dry mouths and strained faces they watched 
that young officer tread briskly along the lit white 
decks, and speak to his superior officer; and as the 
pair of them talked, the crew of the submarine over- 
heard scraps here and there — possibly because they 

were intended to overhear them. “ Meant for 

us sure enough, sir Whitehead ready in the tube. 

Saw it myself when she lifted Couldn’t be rough, 

you know, sir, because of the lady Devilish 

good-looking.” 


160 


THE SUBMARINE BOAT. 


“ Great thing is not to make martyrs of them, 

you see. So we’ll just ignore the whole thing. Pass 
the word to the chief engineer to go and pick up all 
the tips he can from their infernal machine, and then 
scuttle her.” 

Men might talk ashore.” 

“ I’ll stop all leave if necessary. Here, come 

along and introduce me to the lady.” 

So presently Captain Kettle, with the dazed 
O’Hagan, Burke the one-eyed, a defiant Miss 
Ffrench, and a very grimy crew, found themselves 
surrounded by affable naval officers, who talked on 
the most ordinary of topics, and utterly refused to 
accept the idea that there had been anything like 
tragedy even in the air. 

There had been no damage done really, and Cap- 
tain Kettle had earned good wages, but he was won- 
dering as he drank whiskey and soda in that war- 
ship’s hospitable wardroom, whether he could ever 
forgive the injury done him by comely Miss Ffrench. 

But he felt grimly pleased at the conspirators’ 
punishment. Nothing could have wounded them 
more deeply than the knowledge that everything 
practical about their painfully made boat would 
henceforward be the property of the hated British 
Navy. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE BATTLE OF THE BEES. 

A bullet splashed noisily through the soft 
flesh of a dusty aloe in the wayside hedge, and Cap- 
tain Kettle felt the wind of it as it whop-wliopped 
past his cheek. It was the fourth attempt on his 
life that day, and he allowed himself to use the lan- 
guage of irritation. Afterward, the crack of the 
shot came to him from the direction of a thick green 
cork-wood which ran unbroken up the mountain- 
side, till it appeared to prop the hot blue sky above. 

The little sailor faced this assassin’s eyrie sav- 
agely. “Fat lot of good it would do for me to go 
and look for one rifleman in all that timber. He’d 
run like a hare just as the others did if he saw me 
start, and I should have all my sweltering run for 
nothing again. They seem pretty feeble kind of 
skunks, these Carlists. Well, it’s a fool’s game for 
me to be standing out here in the middle of Spain 
to be made a cock-shy of.” 

Captain Owen Kettle possessed all of the old- 
fashioned fighting man’s distaste for cowering in 
161 


162 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


cover, and he carried, moreover, the knowledge 
gathered from infinite experience of how many are 
the bullets which do not carry out their sender’s in- 
tentions. But there are moments when even the 
bravest of men can scurry to shelter without detri- 
ment to their honor, so the sailor uttered a few fur- 
ther remarks derogatory to the parentage of the man 
who was sniping at him, and a few strong hopes 
against his future salvation, and then left the hot, 
dusty centre of the road and jumped down into a 
stone-lined wayside culvert. 

Great ragged edges of aloes bristled above the 
culvert on either side. The floor and walls of it were 
neatly faced with stone. It was quite dry, and un- 
pleasantly warm, and Kettle had frequently to take 
the perspiration from his brow with a forefinger. A 
little further on the aloe clumps were more than 
ordinarily thick, and their heavy bayonet leaves 
arched overhead and made a patch of shade. He 
considered a moment, went to this, sat down, and lit 
a crisp, frayed Spanish cigar to assist his meditation. 

“It’s a poor sort of thing, this, to suck at,” he com- 
mented. “Why they dry out all the juice and 
flavor from their tobacco here is a crank I never could 
understand. It’s like their preferring aguardiente 
to Christian whiskey. Spain’s a poor sort of coun- 
try anyway, 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


163 


“Now, those beggars in that cork-wood will have 
seen me jump down into this drain and I suppose 
they’ll imagine I’m frightened and will run. I 
guess they don’t fancy I’m just sitting here thinking 
unkind things. They’ll suppose I’ve either run for- 
ward or back, and the odds are the two ends of this 
road are cleverly guarded. What’s more, they’ve 
seen enough of my fancy shooting not to try to 
hold me up with any more of their silly corporal’s 
guards. They’ll post a lot of men this time, 
and I don’t undertake to fight through a regi- 
ment.” 

He licked a loose leaf of the cigar back into its 
place and nodded to it thoughtfully. “This trip’s 
got to be run on patent safety lines, and that’s the 
truth of it. Here are the dispatches in my pocket, 
and I said I’d carry them through ten times the 
trouble these greasy Carlists can give, and, by James, 
I’ll do it ! There’s the pay waiting at the other end 
for delivery, and it’s good pay, and I want it for 
the poor missis and the farm. I’m not here for fun. 
I’m not here just to tickle my dirty pride by hand- 
ling a gun. I’m here for hard cash — or the best 
equivalent that can be got for it out of depreciated 
pesetas — and it will be sheer selfishness of me to 
forget it.” 

The little man sighed heavily. “I’ve got to put 


164 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


down my own beastly nature, and have more recol- 
lection for those depending on me, and that’s a fact.” 

It was acting on these pious resolutions, then, 
that Captain Kettle, after exploring the culvert for 
a hundred yards each way, came upon the course of 
a stream which fed it, and up the dry bed of this, 
under a shelter of foliage, retreated rapidly from 
the dangerous neighborhood of the cork- wood, in a 
direction which lay at right angles to the hot, white, 
dusty, road which he had been originally following. 

For a mile he progressed under this cover, and 
then, topping a rise, found himself in the open. The 
stream bed tipped into a little lake, now low with 
the drought of summer. 

He had seldom seen a spot that so thoroughly 
pleased the eye. The water flashed and smiled at 
him with a million dimples. The rocks were of a 
warm and comely pink. Even the patch of waste 
ground where he stood carried for its weed crop 
graceful palmetto scrub. 

But it was the little farm at the further side which 
most thoroughly appealed to him. The stout walls of 
the house were so delicately white; the curled tiles 
of the roof were so pleasantly red; the bourgain- 
villea which hung to one of its gables offered such 
exquisite purples. And then beyond were wine grapes 
on espaliers in full bearing, and field after field of 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


165 


grain ripened under the fine Spanish sun to an en- 
trancing yellowness. Even the dark green ilex for- 
est at the back was musical with the sound of pigs. 

He half drew paper from his pocket and a stub 
of pencil. Pictures like these were rare to him, and 
always moved him to the composition of verse. But 
with a sigh he put these back again, and remembered 
his more immediate business. The envelope he had 
taken from his pocket contained the precious dis- 
patches. 

But he made a compromise with himself. He re- 
quired food, and might as well requisition it here. 
He could sit at the farmer’s door, and, during the 
eating of a meal, might still without neglect of duty 
continue to feast his eye. 

With this scheme in mind, he stepped jauntily 
down a winding path made by the pigs, avoiding 
with care the sharp hooks of the palmettos which 
were so anxious to tear his clothes. The circuit of 
the little lake was long, and Kettle was tempted a 
thousand times to stop and enjoy new vistas which 
were lit up so pleasantly by the generous sun. With 
the side of his mouth which was unoccupied by the 
peeling cigar, he hummed little tunes as he walked. 
With his fingers he drummed out the rhythm of 
sonnets. 

The house, when he came to it, was more ample 


166 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


than he had thought. It was perched on a queer 
little knoll of rock, which had hitherto been hidden 
from him by a roll of the ground, and it gave one 
the idea that in some remote era the site had been 
picked as a fortress. Here Christianity might well 
have discussed theological points with Islam in chain 
armor, with every argument punctuated with arrow- 
shot, and driven home by whistling battle-maces. 

But there was no suggestion of the redoubt as 
Kettle viewed it then. The place was redolent of 
peace, of coolness and rustic charm. 

Bees buzzed round him as he made his way up the 
last little steep ascent. On the low wall of the ter- 
race, which flanked the house, straw-made hives 
stood in a generous row. 

Laden and empty bees left their trade routes for 
a moment to inspect Captain Kettle as he advanced. 
They were a big colony, and therefore powerful and 
jealous. He was a stranger, and so a creature full 
of suspicion. It was their custom to fall with blind 
rage now and again on strangers whose odor and 
appearance pleased them not, and cause these to 
leave the place and return no more. They were 
arrogant, as befits a bee colony which is so large as 
to consider itself a nation. 

Their only master was the farmer, who held the 
power of life and death over them, and was over- 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


167 


lord of their hives and honey, and, in fact, treated 
them as he saw fit. But the farmer made no attempt 
to check these occasional excesses by refraining to 
breed from the more savage hives. He was, in a 
way, rather proud of them ; the bees formed a hedge 
of defence between him and possible enemies; and 
he was careful always to mark and preserve the 
queen bees which would rear the finest fighting stock. 

A swarm then of buzzing insects inspected Cap- 
tain Kettle, and, though he was not exactly comfort- 
able under the ordeal, he did not flinch, and received 
no hurt. It was his pride always to show an adapt- 
ability to rural circumstances. 

The escort kept round him as he marched briskly 
across the terrace to the cloistered front of the house. 
An appetizing smell and the rustle of frying met 
his nose as he turned the angle of the house. 

The cloisters were heavy and deep, and provided 
no lengthy view, but, under the shade of the middle 
one, Kettle suddenly came across a man in a split- 
cane, rocker. The man was enormously fat, and had 
small, gleaming eyes which stared unwinkingly like 
a bird's. To him Captain Kettle made a polite bow, 
and passed the time of day in his best Spanish. 

“Oh,” said the man in English, “you’re a Brit- 
isher. I was told — well, never mind what I was 
told. Perhaps you'd like to be rid of that halo of 


168 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


my workpeople ?” He flipped a fat hand backward 
twice, and said, “Sho !” The cloud of bees thinned. 
“Sho!” he said, “sho!” and the rest of the swarm 
buzzed away into invisibility. “And that,” said he, 
“is the way we manage bees in Spain, Captain. We 
are ahead of your English methods. But I suppose 
bee mastery is outside your line?” 

“Everything connected with a country life is of 
interest to me, sir, and as for ruling bees, well, as I 
like to be boss of everything that breathes that Em 
brought in contact with, I suppose bees count in.” 

“Admirable sentiments,” said the fat man. “Will 
you honor me by taking lunch ? My people will con- 
trive an excellent tortilla , and there is always an 
olla. As to the wine, I grow it myself and take 
a pride in my cellar.” 

Captain Kettle settled himself luxuriously on a 
green-painted bench. “Sir,” he said pleasantly, 
“you have hit off to a nicety the very things I’m 
wanting. And may I add that you speak a very 
excellent English?” 

“I learned it in Grand Canary, Captain. I kept 
a small osteria in Las Palmas.” 

“Out at the port?” inquired Kettle, with polite 
interest. 

“No, in the town. In a street at the back of the 
B. and A. office, which you may recall. I see you 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


169 


do not remember me. But a man who has once 
seen Captain Kettle, and heard his tongue, does not 
forget either. You used some very injurious lan- 
guage to me in my wine shop in Las Palmas, Cap- 
tain. Padura was my name.” 

Captain Kettle rose stiffly to his feet. “I am 
sorry I cannot recall it. But that being so, you 
must please understand that I do not apologize. 
What I said once, I stick to. Under the circum- 
stances you will not want me to stay to your meal ?” 

“Sit down again, Captain; I will not deprive a 
hungry man of his lunch, or myself of your com- 
pany. I do not pay off old scores in that way.” 
And then, as he saw that the little sailor still hesi- 
tated — “Oh, if you are afraid ” 

Kettle clapped promptly down on to the bench. 

The fat man, without moving in his split-cane 
chair, called out for Manuela, and in some local 
patois commanded her to increase the quantity for 
the meal. Something was said also about a certain 
Pepe being sent to tell Don Somebody something 
about an illustrious guest, of which Kettle could 
barely catch the drift. However, with the memory 
of his recent resolutions still strong on him, he made 
interruption. 

“If you’re sending for more company, Mr. Land- 
lord, please don’t do it on my account. I’m travel- 


170 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


in g very private, and must be off again as soon as 
I’ve had a snack.” 

“Oh, pardon. If you’re afraid, Captain ” 

“You can send for the whole of the parish,” 
snapped Kettle, “if you think that.” 

“Just like your old self,” said the fat man placidly. 

“I despise any one who changes.” 

Padura let it rest at that. He seemed singularly 
indisposed to promote further friction, and singu- 
larly content with existing circumstances. He did 
nothing to hurry along the dejeuner. Indeed, from 
the diminution of the hiss of the frying-pan, and 
the dying away of its heralding smell, Kettle half 
guessed that for some reason it had been postponed. 

With difficulty the portly host got a hand into his 
pocket, and produced a case of dry cigars, which he 
passed across. “I remember how much you used 
to like those moist black Canary cigars, Captain. 
But they are not to be got in this quarter of Spain. 
I can only offer you my best.” 

“I’m sure you are very polite, Mr. Padura, and I 
wish I could remember you and your public at Las 
Palmas, but I can’t, and that’s a granite fact. I 
know you wouldn’t think it to look at me, but owing 
to circumstances I’ve seen trouble in so many places 
up and down the world, that I can’t on the spur of 
the moment recall all the occasions. So what I said 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


171 


to you in Grand Canary, or did, must stand. But 
I’m glad we start fair on a level footing now. What 
hour did you say lunch was?” 

“Presently, Captain. It is overdue now. But un- 
punctuality is one of the things we have to put up 
with here in this country.” 

“You have scenery to make up for it. I daresay 
you’ll not have the society here you were accustomed 
to while you bar-kept in Las Palmas, but the scenery 
round this spot makes up for all. I could sit and 
make poetry over it by the hour together.” 

The fat man’s bird’s eyes glittered still more 
brightly. “You still turn out verse, then? I re- 
member they said you were great at it before. I re- 
member your concertina playing myself.” 

“Accordion playing it was,” Kettle corrected 
civilly. “I really wish I could recall the cir- 
cumstances of our scrap. By the way, Mr. Padura, 
did I get to handling you out there, or is it 
only a mouthful of hard words you’ve got to com- 
plain of?” 

“I leave it to your memory,” said the fat man 
with the least possible shrug. “H^re comes the 
lunch. If you can stand full-flavored oil, I think 
you will commend the omelette.” 

Kettle sniffed. “I’m sure I shall. It’s the same 
old smell. I learned to like my cooking done with 


172 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


rancid oil at the other Palma in Majorca. Excuse 

me a moment ” He shut his eyes and said a 

grace. 

“You English,” said his host, “are a surprising 
nation.” 

“That, Mr. Padura, is the grace used by the 
Wharfedale Particular Methodists, of which sect I 
am the founder. I composed the grace myself, and 
if you ask me I will write you out a copy. It’s a 
grace that can be said over any meal. Whether 
you like the grub or not, you can always be thank- 
ful that it is no worse: that’s where true piety 
comes in.” 

The meal lingered in its courses. It was served 
by the comely Manuela on a small round table which 
she brought out into the cloisters, and set between 
them. Whenever a bee came near her Manuela put 
down suddenly whatever she carried in her hand 
and tucked her skirts round her ankles till the crea- 
ture buzzed away. This, as well as the slowness of 
the cooking arrangements, tended to hinder matters. 

In the long waits between the dishes Padura nib- 
bled olives, sipped wine, and talked placidly on the 
virtues of each. Captain Kettle fidgeted. He 
wished to tread once more along his journey. The 
dispatches had been given him in Ferrol with in- 
structions to hurry. He had guaranteed quick de- 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


173 


livery. He wanted badly to receive the pay which’ 
would be due to him at the other end. 

The dispatches had been intrusted to him under 
peculiar conditions. He had made his arrival in 
Ferrol under very remarkable circumstances. As a 
recognition of one of his exploits there, he might 
well have been shot or strung up to the modern equiv- 
alent of a warship’s yard-arm. But, instead, he had 
been most civilly treated, and had thereafter been set 
ashore with many ironic expressions of goodwill by 
some of Her Britannic Majesty’s naval officers. 

A period of financial depression followed, and lo, 
one of these same officers came to his relief. A mes- 
senger was wanted, it appeared, by the Spanish Gov- 
ernment, to carry a very important letter through 
the Carlist lines to a body of Government troops, 
whose lines lay at the further side of the Asturias. 
The country between was frankly owned to be in a 
state of revolution. Telegraph wires were cut or 
tapped; the railway line was blown up in a dozen 
places; and the ordinary postal arrangements were 
wiped away into chaos. There was nothing for it 
but to send the letter by hand. 

There was not the least chance (so said those who 
offered the employment) of a Spaniard slipping 
through the cordon. But a Britisher, if he was suf- 
ficiently determined, could get across unquestioned, 


174 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


as the Carlists favored that extraordinary nation for 
selfish reasons of their own. 

When the question of determination was raised, 
Kettle took over the job with uncivil promptness. 
He wanted to thank the British naval man for giv- 
ing him a “chance of showing these Dagos how we 
do things,” but that officer drily refused to accept 
his gratitude; and when the spruce little mariner 
started off on his journey, he took leave of all those 
concerned in sending him with a good deal of 
stiffness. 

His course had been roughly mapped for him, 
and he had followed it (as has been recorded above) 
through some peril, and though he did not happen 
to know it, he had left the main road only to march 
into what were but the day before Carlist head- 
quarters. 

Captain Owen Kettle was a man always on the 
alert, and one also who could change from the easy 
seat of peace into active and aggressive war with 
incredible swiftness. He was suspicious, moreover, 
of Padura from the very first mention of that mys- 
terious “trouble” in the wineshop in Las Palmas. 
He had too much self-pride to make an early retreat, 
but at the same time he was keenly alive to the ad- 
vent of possible danger. 

The meal dragged its way slowly through sev- 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


175 


eral courses. Baccalhao followed the omelette, frag- 
rant of anything but the sea. Then the olla came, 
exhaling garlic, suspicious in composition, powerful 
in seasoning, and Captain Kettle wiped his knife 
and fork on a crust, and attacked a plateful with 
gusto. Thereafter, at intervals, Manuela brought 
them a roasted chicken, polenta with caramel sauce, 
and cheese, and over each course she made at least 
three false starts, and stopped to tuck her skirts 
tightly round her ankles through fear of her enemies 
the bees. 

Kettle did well by the meal all through, gave 
every eulogy to the wine, and drank a bottle of it; 
and then at the conclusion, feeling pleasantly re- 
plete, he said another elaborate grace, and lifted his 
head from his hands, and words of thanks and fare- 
well ready on his tongue. But a glance at his fat 
host kept these back. Padura was struggling to his 
feet, and was obviously disturbed. 

“Hullo !” said Kettle, “what’s broke?” 

Padura broke into a little cackle of laughter. 

“The cigars,” he gasped breathlessly. “The 
Canary cigars ! I have a box of them inside — fine, 
black, moist ones that you’ll just love. And I was 
going to let you go off without tapping them. Hind- 
leg-of-a-saint ! What forgetfulness!” 

He shuffled clumsily across the cloister toward 


176 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


the heavy oaken house door, and Kettle watched him 
with a puckered brow. 

“There’s more than full-flavored cigars in your 
mind just now, my man,” he muttered. “I wish I 
could remember something about that row in Las 
Palmas. Perhaps that will help me to see the bot- 
tom of things. By James, what do you mean by 
that now?” 

Padura had passed through the door into the 
house, had slammed it after him, and Kettle heard 
the snap of shooting bolts. At the same time an- 
other sound fell upon his ear — a sound that was 
quiet and persistent, a sound that he had got to 
know by heart during the last two days he had been 
on the road with these dangerous dispatches. It 
was the soft pad-pad of rope-soled sandals, not of 
one pair, either, but of many. 

He stepped out into the open sunshine. A com- 
pany of thirty ragged soldiers had come out from 
the ilexes, and were fixing bayonets to their rifles as 
they marched. They were heading for the path up 
to the terrace. “Now, this,” Kettle remarked to 
himself, with grim appreciation of the trap, “this 
is Mr. Padura’s idea of hitting back. These are the 
Don Somebodys he told Manuela to send Pepe for. 
Well, I can’t get at Padura just now, because of 
the front door, and I suppose he’s due for something 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


177 


over that old row I can’t remember; but it will 
rile me badly if I don’t contrive to twist his tail 
by way of receipt. In the meanwhile, good-by 
to this farmhouse. I’m taking no extra risks this 
trip.” 

He started off at a quick run round the buildings 
to look for another path down to the cultivated plain 
below, and by the time he had made the circuit, 
found to his disgust that the road by which he had 
entered was the only one for departure. The face 
of the cliff on which the house stood varied in 
height from sixty feet to, at the lowest, twenty-five, 
and he could come across neither ladder, rope nor 
spar to help an escalade. Already the soldiers were 
coming up the winding path, and shouting and mak- 
ing suggestive movements with their weapons as 
they caught sight of him. 

To most people it would have seemed a moment 
for surrender. But Captain Kettle was a man of 
resource. A thought came to him, and he ran across 
the terrace toward the house, and out of the soldiers’ 
range of vision. Then, crouching, he went back 
again, and stooped behind the parapet till they were 
just below him. Then, with infinitely quick sweeps 
of both arms, he sent the straw beehives toppling 
over on to the troops, half a dozen at a time, and 
then he very hurriedly left. Captain Kettle was 


178 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


fond of a fight, but he was no man to battle against 
infuriated bees. 

He left these small venomous fighters to do their 
vengeance on the soldiers, and, judging from the 
yells and squeals and language that came up, and 
the buzzing which spread through it all like the 
diapason of an organ, they smote and spared not. 

“Now for a rope or spar to help me down,” 
thought Kettle, and ran away and began to hunt 
among the outbuildings for these, or substitutes for 
them, with frantic haste. 

He searched a reeking wine-press, he searched the 
honey store; in the dark he blundered into a place 
where the corpses of swine lay in the usual embalm- 
ing mixture, and shuddered in spite of his hurry as 
his fingers swept the cold, clammy flesh. In the tor- 
ment of bees behind him the soldiers were still shout- 
ing and screaming, and presently an angry, vicious 
buzz or two round his own head, warned him that 
the petard he had launched was very uncontrollable, 
and still effective. 

“I must go and get what I want in the house,” he 
told himself, “and then clear out, or else these small 
warriors will leave the soldiers and start in to eat 
me up next.” 

He ran from the outbuildings and sprinted round 
the house till he found a place where a wooden spout 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


179 


jutted from the wall. With a run he got a hand on 
to this, and quickly craned himself on to it. More 
bees were coming up to hasten his movements. He 
stood on the spout, balancing himself by outstretched 
palms on the wall, and when he was erect, he could 
just reach the coping above. 

He scrambled quickly on to this, and ran across 
the flat, concrete roof. The bees were whirling 
round him in a crowd now, and from two or three 
he got fiery stings. A door stood before him invit- 
ingly. He snatched it open, jumped through on to 
the head of a stairs, and slammed the door behind 
him. 

Simultaneously with the slam of the door, some 
one shot at him from below. The bullet missed its 
mark completely, but brought down a great slab of 
plaster and whitewash, which sent the little sailor 
into a fit of coughing and choking. His own re- 
volver, that inseparable companion, was out on the 
instant, and he charged down the stairs; but what 
with eyes that were dazzled with the brightness of 
a Spanish mid-day sun outside, the present darkness 
of the stairs, and the billowing clouds of dust and 
smoke, he made a very bad judgment of direction, 
and went smash into a blank wall, where the stair 
turned at right angles. 

A lumbering step made itself heard beneath him. 


180 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


“That's Padura,” Kettle commented, as he pulled 
himself together. “I’d like to know exactly what I 
did to him that time in Las Palmas. He doesn’t 
seem satisfied that he’s scored sufficiently even yet.” 

He ran on again down the stairs as soon as he 
had got his direction, but he did not come across the 
fat man. The house was old and big, and it was 
full of doors and passages, and the number of its 
rooms was bewildering. It was a perfect warren 
of a place. Kettle searched it and searched it, lis- 
tening for sounds, peering quickly round corners, 
and with pistol always ready for quickest shooting. 
But he found neither Padura, nor a rope, nor any- 
thing that by ingenuity could be made into a rope 
which would help him down the cliffs. 

Manuela he did certainly come across, seated in 
a kitchen chair with skirts drawn tightly round her 
ankles and her apron up over her head and hands. 
She might have looked to the uninitiated like the 
trussed and mutilated victim of some outrage ; but 
Kettle knew better than this. 

He asked sharply for the whereabouts of the 
patron , and Manuela replied with calmness that she 
didn’t know a bit, and would the senor kindly tell 
her if there was such a thing as a bee just then in 
the cocina. 

“I’m too busy just now to look, my lass,” he said 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


181 


drily, “so you just keep your head wrapped up, and 
as likely as not it will save you from damage. Are 
there no more residents to this interesting house 
but just you and the boss?” 

“There is Pepe, of course,” said the muffled hand- 
maid, “but he went off for an errand, and he hasn’t 
returned.” 

“H’m,’ said Kettle, “I rather fancy Pepe has re- 
turned and brought along the errand with him. I 
only hope those blamed bees have not recognized 
Pepe as a friend and been easy with him. Well, 
good-by, Manuela, I’m too busy to stand here mak- 
ing light talk.” 

He turned away, and once more ransacked every 
corner of the rambling house for Padura and for a 
rope. The place was bare enough. A few straw- 
bottomed chairs and abundance of whitewash made 
up the furniture of most of the rooms; only three 
contained beds ; and nowhere could he find a cranny 
where even a rope could lie hidden, much less such 
an ample bulk as the Senor Padura. Captain Ket- 
tle was getting annoyed. He hated to be beaten. 

It occurred to him to look out from one of the 
grilled upper windows, and what he saw there dis- 
quieted him further. The troops had given up try- 
ing to storm the rock in the face of its bee defenders, 
and had withdrawn to a distance. Others had come 


182 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


to their help, and the place was now so ringed round 
that to climb down the cliff side in daylight would 
be merely to offer oneself as a target for thirty 
rifles. 

A tall, thin, eye-glassed man on horseback had 
joined the main body, and seemed to be directing 
operations. The men were busy with something 
just inside the edge of the ilex wood. 

Presently thin streams of smoke arose from that 
quarter, and then the soldiers again came out into the 
open, each with rifle in one hand and a smoking, 
sputtering torch in the other. Kettle watched them 
advance between the yellow fields of Padura’s grain, 
till they were eclipsed from his view by the angle of 
the cliff, and he began to recognize that he was in a 
very awkward position. There was nothing for it 
but to stay where he was and take his chance ; to 
attempt an escape could only mean being shot down 
at long range without chance of retaliation; final 
terms would have to be a matter of arrangement. 

But, even in these ugly circumstances, Captain 
Kettle’s loyalty to his employers — or his personal 
pride — were still uppermost. Whatever happened 
to himself, he had no mind that the dispatches should 
fall into Carlist hands. He peered about him for 
a while anxiously, and then, spying a roof-beam 
which had warped away from the concrete flooring 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


183 


above, he balanced two chairs one on the other, and 
stood on the uppermost, and slipped the precious en- 
velope into the gap. 

“And now, you beggars,” quoth he, as he dragged 
the chairs back again to the flanks of the room, “Eve 
diddled you that much, anyway, and what Eve got 
to see to now is, first, that you don’t shoot me out of 
hand ; and, second, that you don’t torture me to get 
them. Torture!” he repeated to himself. “By 
James, no! I must see it doesn’t come to that. 
And they’re equal to it, the brutes, so Eve heard. 
If there’s a doubt on the matter, I must just peg 
out — scrapping.” 

The advance of the troops this time was unop- 
posed by either man or insect, and presently fierce 
faces and rifle muzzles were peering in between the 
bars of the lower windows. But these were too 
strong for easy displacement, and a great beam was 
fetched from the wine-press, and with it the oaken 
front door was battered from its hinges. Then a 
gush of bayonets, with savage men behind them, 
swept into the house, and sent through all the rooms 
and stairways the din of their shouts and the reek 
from their smoking torches. 

Kettle sat in an upper room smoking the last cigar 
he had in his pocket, and waiting upon events. He 
wished the invaders to get the first edge off their 


184 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


tempers before he engaged their attention. He 
could hear the pad-pad of their rope-soled sandals all 
over the house. He could smell also a scent of 
warm humanity and garlic which seemed to make 
their presence very real. 

But as has been said, the house was large and 
rambling, and the way to many of its rooms was not 
easy to find. Kettle heard the soft pad-paddings and 
the blows of searching gun-butts on three sides of 
him, and also above and below; but for fully half 
an hour he sat and smoked undisturbed. Then a 
man came into his room, saw him, started, and tried 
to get his bayonet to the charge. But Kettle was 
upon him before he could do this, and had crammed 
a revolver muzzle against his throat. 

“El Ingles” stuttered the man. 

“An Englishman,” corrected Kettle civilly, “and 
one that requires decent treatment.” 

The man dropped his rifle, as though to 
show pacific intentions, and turned his head 
and bawled through the doorway : “El Ingles , 
acqui!” 

“Better tell your friends not to try any tricks,” 
suggested Kettle, “or your mother’s son will only be 
a dead hero.” But the fellow seemed satisfied, and 
made no further struggle; and presently up came 
the tall, lean officer who had been riding the horse. 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


185 


He settled his eyeglass, and looked at Kettle’s small, 
spare form with obvious surprise. 

“So you’re the man who’s been setting the coun- 
tryside a-boil, are you?” 

“You flatter me, General.” 

“I heard you’d left Ferrol.” 

“Most of Spain seems to have been let into that 
secret.” 

“Pff ! Well, give me your dispatches, man.” 

“Not one look. They’re hidden where you’ll not 
find them, so you’d better take things easy and 
not try. It was to General Dupont I was paid to 
take them., and it’s to him they’re going, or to no 
one.” 

The tall man laughed. “May I ask whom you 
take me for?” 

“The Carlist boss, I suppose.” 

The tall man laughed again. “A fellow named 
Pepe made the same mistake. We’d taken a Carlist 
camp up at the back there this morning, and were 
occupying it. He thought we were the rebels, and 
invited us here. Well, we have strung up Mr. Pepe, 
but we accepted his invitation all the same, and a 
rough time some of my fellows had of it. I wish 
I could catch the ruffian who capsized those bee- 
hives.” 

Kettle made no interruption. Plis pride urged 


186 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


him to claim credit for the strategy, but his new 
prudence forced him to hold his tongue. 

“However, we came in here at last, and found the 
bulky ruffian who owns the place ” 

“By James, did you now? I’ve looked for that 
man all through the old barrack myself. I’ve an ac- 
count to square up with him.” 

“Then you didn’t look in the right place. There’s 
a well in the floor of the kitchen here, and the fel- 
low was in the well. There was a maid-servant sit- 
ting on the top of the trap-door. However, we soon 
had him out of that, and I’m afraid we’ve antici- 
pated your private vengeance. The man’s, as you 
English say, expended.” 

“Dash!” said Kettle thoughtfully, “and I’ve got 
something very particular to ask him.” 

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t know that or I’d have 
waited. As it is ” the tall man waved an ex- 

planatory palm and dropped his eye-glass on to the 
end of its string. “And now you may as well give 
me those dispatches, as there seems no chance of 
your carrying them further. I am General Dupont.” 

But Kettle’s mind was not yet rid of all its sus- 
picions. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said doggedly, “but 
I’ve only your word for it that you are the gentle- 
man you say you are. I’m taking no risks. Con- 
fidence-trick men are as thick as wayside aloes in 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


187 


this country, and I understand my responsibilities. 
General Dupont is said to be in Hijola, and that’s 
where I’m taking him the letter.” 

“As you please. It’s hard, perhaps, to have to 
say it to you, but the dispatches were intended to fall 
into Carlist hands, and to me they are valueless.” 
He went to the grilled window and shouted down — 
“Hola, you men, what is my name?” 

“General Dupont,” came the reply from twenty 
lips in varying tones of surprise. 

“Then I have been made a common tool of?” 
snapped the little sailor. 

“I suppose you have been paid,” said the general, 
rather more coldly. 

Kettle climbed up and got the envelope from un- 
der the beam. “That puts me on to the ground floor 
at once. I have not been paid. The letter is 
marked ‘cash on delivery,’ and I will trouble you for 
three hundred pesetas. Your clever friends in Fer- 
ro! measured me with their own tape, and I’ve shown 
myself a bit too big for them, that’s all. If they’d 
told me what they wanted done, they should have 
had it. But as it is, their little game’s failed, and 
you’ve got to pay for it all the same. I’ll trouble 
you for cash, please, at your early convenience. I’ve 
business to attend to further on in this sweet coun- 
try, and at the same time I’m free to tell you flat 


188 


BATTLE OF THE BEES. 


that the neighborhood you happen to be in offends 
my personal taste.” 

“I will see that you have the money at once,” said 
the General curtly, and turned on his heel. 

Ten minutes afterward Kettle was leaving the 
farm, with the notes in his pocket, and another lit 
cigar crumbling in the corner of his mouth. His 
eye wandered over the cornfields and the pink boul- 
ders, and the pleasantly dimpled lake. His ear lis- 
tened appreciatively to the pigs which rooted among 
the ilexes. But his thoughts were still back in the 
white farmhouse on the top of the knoll. “I’d give 
a lot,” he muttered to himself, “to know what I really 
said to the late Padura in his osteria at Las Palmas. 
I wonder if I used my hands to him as well as talked. 
But it will be all guessing now. I don’t suppose I 
shall ever really know for sure.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE FRYING-PAN. 

Mr. McTodd took a piece of wet cotton waste 
from his pocket and held it over the charcoal brazero 
to dry. “Fancy meeting you again/’ he repeated. 

“You’ve said that twenty times already,” said 
Captain Kettle ungraciously. “Try and think of 
something new.” 

“I will, man, I will. Don’t hustle me. I’m in a 
very nervous and exhausted state, and need nutri- 
ment. Pass the jimmy john. This sour blue wine’s 
poor tipple for a throat of my strength ; but it’s bet- 
ter than Atlantic seawater, anyway. And the 
aguardiente is done. You don’t think your credit 
is good enough to get us another bottle of aguardi- 
ente, Skipper? Come now, one bottle among nine 
of us ?” 

“You’ll have no more, Mac, and I’m telling you 
that for the tenth time at least. I asked you to think 
of something new?” 

“Weel, man,” said the engineer, “I’ll give ye an 
observation. Here’s me, come new out of the mid- 
dle of the Atlantic Ocean, with a boatload of the 

189 


190 


THE FKYING-PAN. 


things they call sailors and firemen in England ; and 
here’s you, in a little, single cylinder, low pressure, 
small tonnage Spanish seaport town. We come to- 
gether by an accident we’d call a lie if we heard it 
sung about in a music-hall, and I must say I’m not 
pleased to see you. I’m no’ a man o’ what ye might 
call much commercial aptitude mysel’ ; but when I’ve 
been in your company, and that’s more times now 
than one or two, there’s always been bad luck and 
tight belts to follow. There’s humor in the situa- 
tion if ye look at it rightly.” 

“Don’t associate yourself with me, if you please, 
Mr. McTodd. I’ve handled you before, you dis- 
solute mechanic, and we know who’s the better man ; 
but, by James, if you’ve forgotten, just mention it 
again, and I’ll teach you afresh. Otherwise, please 
remember I’m going to have the respect that’s due 
to me.” 

“Well,” said McTodd briskly, “that’s an invitation 
ye don’t catch me saying ‘no’ to. But, man, of the 
‘all-in’ variety, ye’re a bonny fighter, and I’d like to 
do justice to ye. To-night I’m suffering from the 
effects of exposure and privation, and the poor blue 
ink in this jimmyjohn does me very little material 
good. I’m cold, too, and starved. I wish they’d a 
stove or a fire in this public, or a nice hot steam-pipe 
to dry one’s clothes on. A bit charcoal dish like 


THE FEYING-TAN. 


191 


that on the floor is sheer ridiculousness for a man of 
my measurements.” * 

“I’ve done my best for you.” 

“Man, I’m no’ grumbling at that part of your hos- 
pitality. When I take myself off to bed presently — 
and the jimmyjohn’s nearly done — the blankets will 
dry my clothes fine, and by morning, after a bite of 
breakfast, and a wee dram just to ward off the ma- 
laria, I’ll be ready for the scrap, either here among 
the furniture, or outside in the street, just as you 
please.” 

With an effort, Kettle bit down his temper. “The 
sea's spit you out, Mr. McTodd, and I’m not sur- 
prised at it. Even the Atlantic Ocean is too nice in 
its tastes to swallow all that’s offered to it. I’ll 
leave you over till to-morrow morning, and if you’re 
not civil then. I’ll break you up in a style that will 
astonish you.” He turned and faced the rest of the 
men with a glow of anger. “And if the rest of you 
swine who sit sniggering there care to chip in, I’ll 
break you up, too, without extra charge. Just re- 
member this, you scum : There’s not a man living I 
allow to laugh at me, and whether I happen to be at 
sea, or ashore at a fonda in Spain, that makes no 
difference. So take that in your ugly mouths and 
chew on it.” 

The little sailor waited for retorts, but got none. 


193 


THE FRYING-PAH. 


There was something in that lean, savage face of his 
which forbade liberties. But he did not stay longer 
in the room. After this reasonable wait, to prove 
that he was not afraid of the lot of them together, 
he pushed open the door against the wind, went out 
into the cobbled street, and shut the door behind 
him. 

The night overhead was bright with wind-blown 
stars, and through the narrow streets a fine patter 
of sand blew from the dunes beyond the harbor. 
The gale had scared away the garlic smell, and had 
left in its place a taint of salt and seaweed, just then 
most savory to Kettle’s nostrils. His last disastrous 
months had been spent up-country in Spain, in the 
vain attempt to extort employment either from the 
Government agents or from the Carlists. In his 
final desperate, financial straits the sea, in some mys- 
terious way, had dragged him back to herself, and in 
his then mood the atmosphere of even this small 
coast village came to him as a pleasant tonic. 

He walked down on to the beach, and stood under 
the lee of a green-painted fishing felucca. He lifted 
up his face to the dying gale, and sniffed it appre- 
ciatively. “Same old smell,” he commented. “Well, 
I’ve tasted you many a time, but you’re good to get 
back to. After these beastly Dagos, anything is bet- 
ter.” He turned and shook a savage fist at the 


THE FRYING-PAH. 


193 


vague outline of the hills behind the village, beyond 
which lay the rest of Spain. “By James, if only I 
saw a chance of getting another job at sea!” 

He faced the wind again, and watched on the 
water the dim green lights going north, and the dim 
red lights working south, each with a bright white 
light carried unwinkingly above it. The beach there 
lay alongside the steam lane between Ushant and 
the Straits, and the revolving light on the headland 
beyond was one of the many marks which vessels 
bound for the Mediterranean or the Canal pick up 
on their way from Ushant or the Bay ports. Each 
pair of lights represented a steamer, and each steam- 
er (as poor Kettle woefully calculated) carried a 
master earning decent pay and occupying a respect- 
able position. As to qualifications, he was as com- 
petent as any of them, and yet he stood on that strip 
of wind-swept sand out of employ, and without the 
least hope or prospect that any one would again hire 
him. He was a man utterly without interest. In- 
deed, in many quarters he had but to mention his 
name, and people were only too anxious to pass on 
the fact that he had been irrevocably blacklisted. By 
reason of very pressing domestic calls, too, he 
was a man just then who most strongly needed 
money. 

For an hour he stood in the lee of that green- 


192 


THE FRYING-PAN. 


painted boat, cursing fate; and then a different mood 
came over him. He remembered that at home he 
was the leader, yes, and the founder of a sect. In 
a lonely pulpit in a Yorkshire valley he had preached 
resignation to the Divine will and a full belief in the 
tenets of the Wharfedale Particular Methodists. 
Among these last was the axiom that everything 
comes to those who pray, if only the prayer be sent 
upward with sufficient vigor. 

There and then he lifted up a hand, and with 
tight-shut eyes faced the dark and windy skies. 

TKe supplication was earnest, and it was long. 
Then, again the little sailor opened his eyes and 
faced the laborious sea. But this time it was with 
a robust faith. 

He saw something out of the common, certainly, 
but it did not at first seem to promise either extrava- 
gant fortune, or even modest employ. 

A steamer was heading in for the land, spitting 
an occasional flame, and glowing with rosy smoke. 
Every minute a rocket spouted from her, climbed up 
into the sky, and cracked into stars. All the time 
her siren boomed out in a husky baritone. 

“Badly on fire,” commented Kettle, “and can't 
get it under. They've made fast the whistle-string 
to the bridge-rail, and the captain’s wondering 


THE FRYING-PAN. 195 

whether He will have to leave Her. I wonder where 
I come in?” 

The steamer drew nearer, and more near, and so 
far no one on the beach or in the little town seemed 
to have sighted her. Captain Kettle watched her 
with an eye of personal interest. “Seems to be on 
fire aft, and by the queer way she's steaming I should 
say she’d caught in the bunkers as well. What in 
thunder are they squalling for ? They don’t exactly 
think this village has a steam fire-float, I suppose, 
which will go out and swamp the blaze for them. 
Or is it that there’s no one in charge? Is her cap- 
tain ill or dead, and does she want another ? Is that 
what she has been sent here for?” He reverently 
touched his cap — “I must go of! and see.” 

At a run he set out back for the village, and pres- 
ently was beating against the door of the fonda from 
which he had recently emerged. An indignant land- 
lord presently opened to him — a man who only 
wished he could screw up courage just then for 
impudence. 

Him Kettle pushed aside, and with a vigorous 
shoe applied himself to waking Mr. McTodd from 
his beauty sleep on the floor. 

The engineer was not the safest person in the 
world to tackle just then. Wake he certainly did, 
and that with promptness, but the only thing which 


196 


THE FRYING-PAH. 


had arrived to his somewhat bemused brain was the 
fact that some one was attacking him; and so 
without rising from the floor he seized a chair 
by the leg, and used it with considerable vigor as 
a flail. 

The ensuing crash and row aroused the rest of 
the men, and they, after the manner of their pro- 
fession, were doing their best to take sides in the 
argument. But Kettle’s tongue by this time had 
brought Mr. McTodd to his senses, and he thereupon 
sat up, and threw the balance of his chair in among 
his friends, with instructions to keep the peace. 

“I’m no’ just ready for yon scrap, Skipper, if that’s 
what ye’ve come for. But if you call me a dissolute 
mechanic again, I’ll get up before we’re any older, 
and take my feet to you.” 

“I want you to rouse and come out, if you’re not 
too drunk.” 

“Drunk ! Me drunk ! Man, must I keep on re- 
ferring to your inhospitality? Sour blue ink such 
as they give here has no power to make a man with 
my coefficient of absorption even^wutty. Moreover, 
we’d only a jimmyjohn of it, and if all hands didn’t 
share equally, at least they can say they had as much 
as I thought was good for them. Ye’ll ken, Skip- 
per, with this poor blue ink ” 

“Rouse, you swine, and pick tlie sleep out of your 


THE FRYIffG-PAff. 


197 


ears. Can’t you hear that whistle? There’s a 
steamboat inshore, blowing for all she’s worth, and 
shooting rockets. She’s on fire, and well lit, and 
she wants help badly, and no one else seems inclined 
to give it.” 

The engineer jumped sharply to his feet. “There’s 
our boat and us. Of course, the blessed Dagos in 
the village are all shamming sleep, in case they 
should be called upon to help. Come along, Skip- 
per. Why couldn’t you have said at once what was 
wanted, instead of starting off on the preach and 
wasting time ?” 

A gesticulating landlord, shrieking for the pay- 
ment of his bill, was swept away from the door, and 
ten men (of seven different nationalities) scrambled 
into the night. They ran out through the narrow 
streets on to the beach. Kettle leading, McTodd 
stumbling along in the rear, and throwing stones at 
the innkeeper when he came within range. 

The lifeboat in which Mr. McTodd and his com- 
panions had made their arrival from the vague At- 
lantic twelve hours before, lay there hauled up, and 
the thrifty Spaniards had looted her of all movable 
stores. But the returning crew were not particular 
or over-nice. They visited the fishing feluccas with- 
in reach, and gleaned all the oars and thole pins they 
wanted. Then they ran the boat down into the 


198 THE FEYING-PAK 

surf, and half of them waded to their necks to get 
her out. 

Before them, lit by the light of her own burning, 
the steamer shouldered over the Atlantic rollers. 
But the roar of her siren was growing more faint, 
and McTodd, who was tugging at the stroke oar, 
with his head over his shoulder, soon diagnosed her 
case. 

“They’ve been driven from the engine-room, and 
steam’s run down, and she’s out of command. She’s 
on fire in the bunkers. Lift your nose, Captain, and 
smell that roasting coal. My whiskers, but she 
stinks just like a gas-house.” 

“They’ve let one boat catch,” said Kettle, “and 
she’s flaming away there in the davits. They’ve tried 
lowering the other, and she’s gone down one end 
first, and swamped alongside. Rotten tackle, I 
guess, never renewed since she went to sea. Same 
old usual. By James! look at them dancing about 
there like a lot of monkeys on a hot stove lid. What 
sort of a putty man’s skipper there? Does he pride 
himself on keeping no discipline ?” 

The boat, rowed strongly against wind and sea, 
closed at last with the burning steamer, and Kettle 
rounded her up against the quarter. A rope was 
thrown, and the bowman caught it, and took a turn, 
and she hung there in comparatively smooth water, 


THE FRYING-PAN. 


199 


as the steamer had fallen off into the trough, and 
made a lee. The frightened men above were all for 
jumping down to her at once, but Kettle, with the 
tiller out and over his shoulder, threatened to brain 
the first that came over the side, and the sight of the 
savage little face under the fire glare held them back. 
Then, tucking the tiller inside his coat, he caught 
another rope, jumped over, clapped his feet against 
the plating, and ran nimbly up to the rail, and stepped 
over on deck. 

McTodd followed him, and the pair of them went 
coolly round and made inspection for themselves. 
Officers and crew of the burning steamer pressed 
round them, clamoring wildly ; but after one had re- 
ceived McTodd’s grimy, heavy, sledge-hammer fist 
in the jaw, without further explanation, there was 
no more hustling. As for Kettle, his savage face 
and the heavy tiller in his hand scared them all away 
from him with full completeness. 

The pair of them made their leisurely inspection 
to the accompaniment of hissing water, booming 
wind, the roar of flame and the chatter of southern 
tongues, and then said McTodd : “Not much trouble 
dousing this small splutter, anyway, Skipper.” 

“You shut your blighted head,” came the surpris- 
ing retort. “Every living soul has got to leave this 
old packet within the next three minutes.” 


200 


THE FRYING-PAN. 


“But, man, do ye no’ think of the salvage ? As a 
spectacle, I’ll admit she makes a surprising fine bon- 
fire, though I’m ower sober to appreciate it. But if 
she’s put out, it’ll mean a fine large sum to us. Man, 
Kettle, if you’re thinking these Dagos will pay for 
ferriage ashore, you’re wrong. They’ll no’ fork out 
saxpence. And if you’re thinking there’s more easy 
time to be had ashore, you’re wrong again there. I’m 
thinking our credit is exhausted at the pub., and I 
have it in mind that I broke the landlord’s head with 
the last stone I fired at the beggar.” 

Kettle lifted the tiller and rushed. “By James, 
don’t you try to keep me here haggling for your 
dirty saxpences ! Into the boat with you, Mr. Mc- 
iTodd, and do your duty. By James, if you’re asking 
me for a broken skull, you shall have one while you 
wait. Into the boat with you, and send down the 
rest of the scum first.” 

“Whiskers take the saxpences,” said the engineer 
unpleasantly. “Don’t you keep on flinging that in 
my face just because I’m Scottish. If you want to 

do the job for nothing, I’m the man to help you ” 

with which he drove the steamer’s crew before him, 
and then down into the dancing lifeboat. 

In the meanwhile Kettle, during the moment’s re- 
spite, ran forward; and from the bows came the 
splash of an anchor, and the heavy roar of a cable 


THE EKYING-PAN. 


201 


rasping through a hawse-pipe. Then, with a jar 
it stopped, and the other noises drowned all com- 
ment. 

Captain Kettle came flying down the rope, the last 
man into the boat, and the bow fast to which she 
rode was cast off. The next sea spurned her away, 
and once more her oars straddled out, and before 
the wind she swept away quickly for the beach. 

She was heavy with men, and in the landing 
through the surf, partly swamped. But those from 
the steamer were quickly hustled out with small con- 
cern about their convenience, and the boat was hauled 
higher up on the beach. 

“Now, then,” Kettle shouted through the gale, 
“rock out the water.” 

“Water be beggared!” retorted McTodd. “Let 
her rot.” 

“She may rot as she chooses, once she's carried us 
back to that steamboat.” 

“What's that, man?” 

“A deserted ship, Mr. McTodd, is worth to the 
salvors just eight times what a ship with men on her 
is worth. Now I should say that steamboat footed 
up to all of £50,000 when she left port, and if her 
cargo was valuable she might very well have touched 
£100,000. Did you think I was a fool ?” 

Mr. McTodd rubbed his scrubby beard, and then 


THE FRYING-PAN. 


202 

(as the idea came to him) burst into a cackle of 
laughter. “Oh, humorous, very humorous. Skip- 
per, you’re a great man. I take back what I said 
about being Scotch. Ye’re as bad as a Dundee man 
at heart, and nearly as bad as an Aberdonian, and I 
love you for it. When it comes to that scrap of ours 
I’ll deal lightly with you. Here, you coal heavers, 
get the water kicked out of that boat quick, or you’ll 
have me to converse with next. That’s our steamer 
over there, and we don’t want her more badly burned 
than necessary.” 

The crew, who were not all of them English 
speakers, did not at first understand this new change 
of front, but neither Captain Owen Kettle nor Mr. 
Neil Angus McTodd was accustomed to waste 
breath in lengthy explanations to their underlings. 
The art of “driving” was one in which they both 
excelled, and presently the lifeboat lurched and 
reared again out through the surf, and was rowed 
out over the ugly seas to the steamer. 

This time the matter of boarding was more diffi- 
cult. The vessel had swung to her anchor, and lay 
pitching violently head-on to the seas. But Kettle 
drove the boat remorselessly alongside, and she was 
made fast, though at every heave the steamer 
threatened to come down bodily on the top of her. 
However, the men jumped as she rose, and once they 


THE FRYING-PAN. 


£03 


were over the rail, the lifeboat was passed astern 
at the end of a long painter to plunge as violently 
as she chose. 

Truth to tell, with the exception of Kettle and 
McTodd, they were all pleased enough to have the 
boat within reach. The steamer was a sufficiently 
terrifying spectacle ; she roared with flame and vom- 
ited sickening smoke; she buckled and shimmered 
with heat; it seemed as though she might drop in 
pieces and founder any second. She had scared off 
her Spanish crew already, and the rank and file of 
the newcomers openly sympathized with them. 
There were only two English speakers among these. 
One expressed his dislike for a something “tea-party 
on the top of a very red blast furnace,” and his 
exact words were pungent. The other said he didn’t 
care where he went to when he died now, as the 
hot place couldn’t be worse than this. From the 
rest came similar sentiments in different tongues. 
But for awhile they were allowed leisure to exchange 
these comments, and translate them for mutual 
benefit as well as they were able. 

Kettle and McTodd were gasping and choking on 
the top platform of the engine-room. The technical 
man explained things. 

“Steam’s down, you see, Skipper, and so we can’t 
have the pumps. You can hear by the slop and by 


204 


THE FRYING-PAH. 


the way she rolls she’s half full of water already. 
The clumsy fools have let it get into the stokehold, 
and likely enough it’s over the fire-bars this minute, 
and it’s that that’s chilled the boilers.” 

“P-f-f-f! No man could live down in that stoke- 
hold now in this heat.” 

“It’s a matter of opeenion, and perhaps for demon- 
stration. A fireman, and the engineer that drives 
him, is no’ a man; he’s a machine, or it should be 
his pride to make himself such, and rise superior to 
the effects of temperature. It’s that, Skipper, that 
makes some of the profession suffer from a distress- 
ing thirst.” 

“We’ll drop politics of that description, if you 
please, Mac. This steamboat has been sent directly 
for our benefit; we’ve got her all to ourselves; and 
it’s our job to make her useful. At present she’s 
neither more nor less than a bally frying-pan, with- 
out immediate commercial value, and very uncom- 
fortable to live upon. Now, I’d an idea when we 
boarded her first that we could open a seacock and 
let her partly fill, and get rid of the fire that way. 
The blaze seemed to me low down. But that’s out 
of the question. The seacocks will be down below 
there, and there’s no getting at them through that 
heat and reek. There are no pumps on deck, of 
course. I see nothing for it but buckets.” 


THE FRYING-PAH. 


205 


“Weel, man, if that’s as far as your intellect takes 
you, get your buckets rigged. But we’ve a saying 
in Ballindrochater, which is where I came from — 
my father was meenister there ; I don’t know whether 
I ever told you — we’d a saying that at a pinch a high- 
ly trained man was worth ten amateurs, and that’s 
where I come in. They’ve a donkey boiler here at 
the far side of the fiddley, which a man can fire 
without being melted, and there’ll be a pump at- 
tached to that which I think I can rig. So once 
you’ve got your bucket chain in action, get your 
hoses passed, and stand by for further results.” 

They separated at this, and went coughing 
through the smoke toward their various employ- 
ments. By a happy chance the steamer was com- 
paratively modern, and was, in fact, a typical small 
cargo tramp. She was steel built throughout — 
steel decks, steel masts, steel deck-houses. The few 
scraps of wood in her composition — forward of mid- 
ships — had charred, caught and flared away before 
her Spanish crew left her, and when Captain Kettle 
and his companions took her over, she was a mere 
box of glowing metal. 

The seas outside hissed against Her, and from Her 
flanks, every time she rolled them under, arose a 
vast cloud of spluttering steam. Her decks, which 
were for the most part free from water, glowed with 


206 


THE FRYING-PAN. 


a dull-red heat, and a passage fore and aft was only 
obtained by a precarious climb along her bulwark 
rail. 

Buckets, as it turned out, were not procurable, but 
sailor men have ingenuity, and vessels which would 
carry water were quickly contrived and found. 

The most pressing need for the moment was the 
preservation of the fore hatch. The bunkers at- 
tended to themselves, but the worst of the cargo fire 
was below this, and if once the hatch covers were 
burnt off, the air would get in bodily, and the place 
would become a mere furnace. So Kettle rigged a 
derrick on to the rail to serve as a bridge across the 
glowing deck, and set his men to pour water on to 
this hatch. The ventilators to this hold had been 
burnt off, and the Spanish crew had made no effort 
to replace them, and, as a consequence, air got in 
through the gaps, and kept the blaze merrily alight. 

Kettle’s most difficult task was to plug these aper- 
tures. At first sight it seemed that he had no ma- 
terials to do it with, and a red-hot deck to work 
upon; but the resourcefulness of the man was at its 
best just then. He looked upon this steamer as a 
special gift to him in answer to that fervid supplica- 
tion of his on the beach, and he was straining every 
nerve and every fibre of his brain to prove himself 
worthy of the boon. Sometimes alone, sometimes 


THE FRYING-PAN. 


207 


with McTodd to help him, he kicked, and tore, and 
dismantled, till he had gathered enough metal work 
for the purpose, and then, slung in the bight of a 
rope above the red-hot deck, he fitted the covers in 
place, and cut off the fire from the open air. And 
still the bucket gang kept on baling. 

Long ago day had sprung up bright and hot over 
the sea, and though the wind had dropped, a heavy 
swell still ran, and burst in a roar of surf on the 
beach. Crowds of country people stood among the 
fishing craft there, gaping at the spectacle, but no 
boat put off, and no signal fluttered an offer of help. 
The steamer which rolled dimly out there at her an- 
chor in the heart of that cloud of steam and smoke 
did not attract them in the smallest, and if the Eng- 
lish sailors (who had insulted the innkeeper, and still 
owed him a bill) thought good to occupy themselves 
with her, well, it was a matter for their own choice. 
It was one more proof of how mad these English' 
were. 

McTodd had a steam-pump running from the don- 
key boiler by this time, and for most of that day he 
was pumping the cool Atlantic down into the burn- 
ing bunkers and forehold. Later on, when the fire 
eased somewhat, and the steamer was so low in the 
water that every other sea came bodily on board 
and she was in imminent danger of swamping, he 


208 


THE FRYING-PAN. 


altered the process, and drew his supplies from the 
bilge. 

Mr. McTodd was made of iron, but the others were 
softer. The eight firemen and trimmers, who were 
much worn with their long boat trip even when they 
came on board, were utterly exhausted by this time, 
and for the most part slept. But they kept on bal- 
ing just the same, and if one of them tumbled from 
his perch, the burn of the hot iron decks soon awak- 
ened him. 

Indeed, burns were the common portion of all 
hands, and steam-scalds and the blackings of much' 
smoke. McTodd, perhaps, was not much changed 
in outward appearance ; he was never, at his best, a 
smart man. But the spruce Captain Kettle was 
filled with disgust at his own appearance. He was 
as black as a chimney sweep, and his clothes were so 
charred that he was half naked as well. Even the 
thought that he was earning the wherewithal to pro- 
vide many baths and much new raiment did not 
wholly console him. He was a man to whom un- 
cleanliness gave acute physical discomfort. 

As for meals, there was a water tank and a barrel 
of biscuit in the firemen’s filthy quarters, aft in the 
counter, and to the former of these all hands applied 
with frequency. The biscuit they did not trouble 
much about just then. 


THE FRYING-PAN. 


209 


Two long weary days they fought the fire, and got 
it in check; a third day, and it was plainly dimin- 
ished; then, because both Kettle and McTodd were 
utterly exhausted and dropped off to sleep one after 
the other, efforts were slackened, and the fire gained ; 
but on the fifth day they attacked it again with more 
savage vigor ; and on the sixth day it was practically 
out. 

During the last two days the late captain of the 
ship had come off in a fishing boat with various mem- 
bers of his crew, with the idea of again taking over 
possession, but Kettle would hold no parley with 
them. By his instructions they were pelted with 
belaying pins and other movables, and then, when 
they came within nearer range, some humorist turned 
the hose on them, which just then was pumping 
black, reeking water from the bilge. 

The Spanish captain, who spoke EnglisH, shook a 
fist at Kettle, and called him a pirate. Kettle wagged 
a finger at the Spaniard, and spoke of his small at- 
tainments as a seaman, and made comments on his 
probable ancestry, and the defects in his bringing up. 

“She was your steamer,” said he, “and you found 
Her too hot for comfort. I didn't ask you to come 
off and stroll about shore, but once she was derelict 
I took her over, and put a man's work into 
her, and now she is salved you can bet your 


210 THE FRYING-PAN. 

little life I am going to stick on to her till I touch my 
dividends.” 

The tired crew, so far as linguistic deficiencies per- 
mitted, enjoyed the episode thoroughly, and found it 
an agreeable interlude. As a finale, Mr. McTodd 
hit the dispossessed one on the head with an enor- 
mous lump of coal, which split like a shell and cov- 
ered him with dust, and with that the boat rowed 
back for the beach. 

“The dirtiest lampblack I’ve ever fired with,” said 
McTodd. “You’ve to be using the coal slice to it 
every minute if you want to make steam. It’s a 
pity it’s all done, but I’m free to own it hurt my pro- 
fessional pride using it.” 

“What’s that?” said Kettle sharply. “No coal?” 

“Not enough to make up a packet of tooth powder 
from. I thought at least there’d be coke in the bunk- 
ers when she cooled down, but there’s not; there’s 
nothing but clinkers. I’m afraid, Skipper, you’ll 
have to go ashore after all and wire for a tow-boat. 
It’s a pity, after having dodged that innkeeper, to 
have to go near him again.” 

“Nothing of the sort. If you can’t steam her, 
I’ll sail her. As for the innkeeper, I’d have you 
know, Mr. McTodd, that I’m not a swindling Scotch- 
man myself. That man shall have his account in 
full when I touch the salvage.” 


THE FRYING-PAN. 


211 


McTodd winked a grimy eyelid. “I bet that 
Spanish skipper would think it a very humorous 
observation if you were to tell him just now that 
you were not Scotch.” 

“Eh, what’s that?” 

“Oh, very humorous,” chuckled McTodd, and 
stepped inside the engine-room again. 

The steamer’s anchor was lifted by hand, and un- 
der two trysails and two staysails she started on her 
way down alongside the brown hills of the Portu- 
guese coast for Gibraltar. By degrees other sails 
were brought out, and with palm and needle, awn- 
ings and weather cloths were made into still other 
sails. Some were set on the funnel; others were 
set with derricks for yards ; and each helped to add 
some fraction of a knot to her pace. 

The vessel in her new garb presented a sufficiently 
fantastic appearance, and other vessels, as they 
passed, observed her through their glasses, and 
hoisted sarcastic comments in the commercial code 
of signals. Time after time Kettle turned these up 
in the signal-book, and swore as he worked out the 
meaning. As a result he presently turned the ves- 
sel out of the steam lane, and let her wallow along a 
lonely course of her own. 

Another man would have worked her into the 
* Tagus as the most convenient port on the Portu- 


212 


THE FRYING-PAH. 


guese coast; and McTodd, who distrusted anything 
but steam, was all for this. Kettle was a steamer 
sailor, too, and the slowness of his present means of 
progression irritated him. But his distrust for the 
Spaniard and the Portugee outweighed all these 
considerations. True he would find a British consul 
ashore in these towns, but even this did not influence; 
him. He had no ready cash, which was the one 
necessity — so far as his observation traveled — to 
win a “Dago” lawsuit. He had got the ship — a 
boon specially sent to him — and in pure thankfulness 
he ought to make the best of her. Gibraltar was the 
nearest British port, and although the Rock scor- 
pions have an unsavory reputation for fleecing the 
stranger, to Gibraltar he intended to take his prize 
for realization. 

So the old Frying-pan , as they had begun to name 
her, waddled down the Spanish and Portuguese 
coasts, anchoring when the wind headed her, mak- 
ing her twenty-five to thirty knots a day when all 
was prosperous. She nearly drifted on to the Bur- 
lings in a calm, but had no other adventure, and in 
due time she turned into the Straits. She was taken 
in charge by the current there, just missed being 
swept into the Mediterranean, and finally blew leis- 
urely up to an anchorage among the coal hulks. 

She lay there, one brilliant mass of fleckless red 


THE FRYING-PAH. 


213 


rust, and a swarm of chattering boats flocked round 
her. There is no creature in the world more profuse 
in his offers of help than your Scorpion — if he thinks 
he will get overpaid for it. 

And now Kettle’s real worries began. The Fry- 
ing-pan was without provisions, and he was without 
money, and he had to raise funds at a ruinous rate 
of interest He had no reliable assistant; once the 
strain was off, Mr. McTodd thirsted to be ashore. 
He had a friend, it appeared, a tavern-keeper over 
in the Spanish Lines, with whom he had left an un- 
finished argument; the thing could be settled in a 
couple of days; and he didn’t see why he shouldn’t 
go, especially as Kettle refused to be convivial on 
board, even though whiskey in Gibraltar paid no 
duty. The firemen, too, were the usual shiftless lot 
who could not be trusted an inch. 

However, he managed to get a cable off to the 
steamer’s owners, and they with promptness replied 
that they had handed her over to the insurance com- 
pany. 

He applied next to the insurance company for full 
salvage, and then came delays. But, finally, their 
surveyor arrived, and was vastly impressed with the 
rust and ruin which was frankly displayed all over 
the boat, and by the next mail came an announcement 
that the company would hand over the steamer her- 


214 


THE FRYING-PAH. 


self to the salvors as full satisfaction of their claims. 
Captain Kettle could have danced with rage at his 
disappointment. It was cash he wanted, and imme- 
diate cash at that. He had claims at home. He had 
pressing claims in Gibraltar, where credit is pe- 
culiarly short. And there he was, with that very 
unsalable thing upon his hands, a gutted steamboat 
of uncertain ancestry. 

But to him in this extremity came a certain Rock 
Scorpion of his former acquaintance, and made an 
offer. 

There was, to begin with, much beating about the 
bush, and, finally, the man said : “Well, Capitan, you 
must not be too particular. You must not aska too 
many questions.” 

“I ask no questions at all. I have named a price, 
and cash is' what I want. If Old Nick was setting 
up a navy, and applied for the ship, and would pay 
for her, I would sell to him. ,, 

The Scorpion was visibly moved. “Who .said 
about a navy? Somebody has splita.” 

“Rats ! Let your hair alone. Don’t you try any 
of your play-acting on me. If you want to buy, say 
so at once, and bring out your cash. If not, please 
get a move on you, and go down into your boat. 
Come, now, Solomon, which is it?” 

The Scorpion did not like this brusque treatment, 


THE FKYING-PAN. 


215 


but he recognized that this little man would not stand 
any further trifling. He brought out a fat pocket- 
book, and showed a sheaf of limp peseta notes. 
“How’s thata ?” 

“Thousands and hundreds, are they? Let’s see, 
the exchange is about 34.15 to the pound sterling. 
Let’s see. H’m. There’s about £1,090 in that 
package.” 

“Take them, Capitan, take them. I wish to do 
you a good turn. I am your fellow subject. Take 
them.” 

“For my steamer? Not likely, you thief.” 

“But I give you bills for the rest. Don’t you un- 
derstand that I buy steamer at your own figure ?” 

“Useful sort of thing a bill backed by you would 
be to realize on.” 

“But, Capitan, you do not understand. I am 
agent. There can be no other backer to the bilk 
It is politics.” 

“Call it highway robbery and you’ll be nearer the 
mark. Think I’ve been in Gib. all these times with- 
out finding out what a Scorpion is yet, Solomon?” 

The man wrung his hands. 

“But, Capitan, you want to sell steamer?” 

“And you want to buy.” 

“Then let us agree. I do not want to rob you. 

I am most honest man, and we together are fellow 


216 


THE FRYING-PAN. 


subjects of Britannia. Here, take the eleven hun- 
dred and twenty pounds — the exchange is just a 
little different from what you said — and for the rest 
you shall not hand over the ship’s papers till it is 
paid. You shall stay on board and take care of her 
till she is ours.” 

“Now you’re talking. Give me the notes.” 

“Shall I take them and put them to your credit at 
our bank ? We have a pretty good bank, my brother 
and I, and allow you liberal interest — say eight per 
cent. More than you get in England !” 

Captain Kettle winked a sharp eye. 

“Not one peseta , Solomon. I shall deal out their 
shares to the rest of the crew, pay a public house bill 
that is owing, and Mrs. Kettle will have my bit re- 
mitted to her by the next mail. Hullo, Mac !” 

Mr. McTodd came into the ruined chart-house and 
leaned up against a rusty wall. “You seem pleased 
with yourself.” 

“Sold the old packet to Solomon here. You can 
go ashore, now, Mr. McTodd, if you choose, with 
money in your pocket to spend.” 

“Right! and it’s about time I did. But there’s 
that scrap of ours. I’m in rare hard fettle now, 
and I think I could do justice to you.” 

“Oh, if you want it,” said Kettle pleasantly, “I’ll 
break you up. Come out on deck.” 


THE FRYING-PAH. 


217 


“Send the Scorpion off first — we shall be too busy 
to watch, and these beggars will steal the keel off 
the ship if you take your eyes away from them.” 

So they saw Solomon down into his boat, and 
hauled up the ladder to discourage callers, and then 
they faced one another and put up their hands. 

The many-nation crew of firemen and trimmers 
whistled to one another, and climbed on to the top 
of the deck-house to watch. They were connois- 
seurs in this sort of thing, and they appreciated to 
the full every hit and every guard. 

It was a gorgeous fight! 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A CUP OF TEA. 

“El reis seria,” the door guard announced first of 
all, but when Kettle turned on him with a furious 
prohibition against ever again describing him as 
“the little captain,” the man bawled out “El Reis 
Keetle ” as a further introduction. He did not seem 
to consider the pink-cheeked, panting Fenner worthy 
of any comment whatever. 

The Sheik Hadj Mohammed Bergash, seated on 
the Sus mat at the further end of the room, wel- 
comed the pair with unruffled composure, and bowed 
his head and said “Slamma alikum” with fine dig- 
nity. 

“Slamma” said Kettle, and went up and seated 
himself cross-legged on the mat. He beckoned Fen- 
ner to his side, and that young man doubled himself 
up awkwardly, and then was half-strangled by a 
fit of coughing. “I am very pleased to make your 
acquaintance at last, Hadj Mohammed.” 

The Sheik Bergash touched palms with Kettle's, 
and kissed his own. “May your enemies die pain- 
218 


A CUP OF TEA. 219 

fully, and your family increase,” said he in flowery 
Arabic. 

“I’d like you to tone down those good wishes just 
a trifle,” said the little sailor. “The present fam- 
ily’s about all I can support. More of them would 
make me a bit too active. But while we are passing 
compliments, I should like to say that this hilltop 
town of yours is a mighty strong place, but riding 
up here from the beach is one of the hottest jobs 
I’ve struck for many a long day. I’m not much of 
a jockey any time, perhaps, but that red stallion you 
sent me down was a fair circus. He danced up 
nine-tenths of the way on his hind legs. As a con- 
sequence I’ve got a good four-dollar thirst on me.” 

“I do not quite understand.” 

“Well, Sheik, if you aren’t T.T., I guess now’s 
the exact moment to bring out the whiskey and soda. 
Let me introduce my young friend, Mr. Martin Fen- 
ner. He’s thirsty, too.” 

“I have only the drinks allowed by my religion,” 
said the Sheik, and clapped his hands and ordered 
them. j 

“Oh, bad luck,” coughed Fenner, and Kettle 
clicked a dry mouth. “Now, I made sure, Hadj 
Mohammed, that a Moor who’d the taste you have 
for steamers and Lee-Metford rifles would have been 
civilized up to gaiour drinks as well. / But you say 


220 


A CUP OF TEA. 


you aren’t, and I don’t know that I like you any the 
worse for it. You stick solid on your own religion, 
and I’d rather deal with a hard-shell Mohammedan 
than with a man who’s half that and half nothing.” 

The Sheik bowed gravely. 

“Besides,” Kettle went on, “Mr. Fenner here 
wants to learn all about Morocco, and he can’t do 
better than begin on a tumbler of hot green tea, 
with a sprig of mint in it, and as much sugar as it 
will dissolve. I’m glad to see the trade isn’t blow- 
ing you a sandstorm here. W e’d very strong trades 
as we steamed down coast, and off Mogador the 
sand was coming aboard as thick as a channel fog, 
and filling the very marrow in your bones with grit. 
Mr. Fenner here is a bit touched in the lung, and I 
thought the dust would have killed him. . . . 

Here’s luck, Hadj Mohammed — I mean, slamma. 
It’s many a long year since I drank green tea as 
sweet as this.” 

“Slamma alikum. This town, the other towns, 
the country near, the tribes of the Atlas, and Sus be- 
yond, will regard you as their father, Reis Keetle. 
I am their spokesman to say it.” 

“I’m sure that’s very kind of you, and gratifying 
to me. Perhaps, as we are on such friendly terms, 
you won’t think it indelicate of me to remind you 
that there’s a little bill outstanding between us.” 


A CUP OF TEA. 


221 


“Oh, that!” — Sheik Bergash waved a small mus- 
cular hand. “It is not for us chiefs to talk of these 
mean matters of commerce. Solomon, my agent 
in Jebel-al-Tarik, will settle all these things with 
your agent.” 

“Not being in a position to keep a large staff just 
now,” said the little sailor drily, “I am acting as my 
own agent. As for Solomon, he’s got the usual Gib- 
raltar Scorpion’s failing. He’s very slippery. So I 
just brought him along on my steamboat, and for 
reasons of safety I’ve locked him up in his room, and 
he’s there this minute. Funny thing about Solomon 
is, he’s complaining that you have landed him in for 
making a bargain which he now finds he hasn’t the 
means of carrying out.” 

“I do not completely understand. You speak too 
tangled for me,” said the Sheik. 

“Well, I know my Arabic isn’t yours. Mine’s 
East-country Arabic, and not Moorish; and as for 
Berber, which is, I suppose, your other tongue, I 
don’t speak it at all. However, I’ll try to explain 
more clearly. That vessel that’s lying at anchor off 
your beach belonged to self and partners. She was 
surrendered to us by some measly underwriters in- 
stead of lawful salvage price. We had her there 
in Gibraltar Bay open to offers, and your particular 
Scorpion came along. I’ll admit she was not a 


222 


A CUP OF TEA. 


packet for everybody’s money ; fire had burned most 
everything in her that would burn ; and, besides, she 
was a good deal buckled, and in most ways had lost 
her looks. But then the price was low to correspond, 
and I guess it was the price that brought Solomon 
along like a rat after a well-kept cheese.” 

“Solomon knew how much we could afford. He 
understands my affairs.” 

“He may think he did; they’re a slippery crew, 
these Scorpions, and I never trust them overmuch, 
Sheik. But just now Solomon says he’s clean 
fogged over your and his finance, and for once, in a 
way, I believe he’s speaking the truth. We put in at 
Mogador, you know, for him to consult with some 
of his co-religionists, and he came out waving arms 
of despair like a windmill.” 

Hadj Mohammed Bergash threw out an elegant 
hand. “By Allah’s mercy I am not a Jehudi, and 
so do not understand business. I am a Moor, and 
a true believer. You have brought me the rifles and 
the repeating cannon? You have brought also the 
heavy cannon to defend your steamer from the Sul- 
tan’s steamers when they come to interrupt your 
trading?” 

“There were certain cases,” said Kettle very drily, 
“in number three hold, which were entered in the 
manifest as machinery, that might contain rifles and 


A CUP OF TEA. 


223 


a machine gun or two. I didn’t break them open 
to make sure. There was also a case marked Grand 
Piano in number two hold which might very possi- 
bly be convertible into a big gun. Indeed, your Mr. 
Solomon was very anxious to have them lightered 
off here first thing.” 

“But they have not come !” said the Moor, wrying 
his face. 

“You never spoke squarer truth. You see, there 
was that trifle of a balance between us, and I wanted 
that settled first.” 

“Tut, tut, tut. They must be brought ashore at 
once. The machine guns and rifles may be wanted 
any minute to defend the town. The Sultan’s army 
is all around us, and each time they have attacked, 
our defence has been weaker. I tell you, Reis 
Keetle, my weapons must be brought ashore at once.” 

Captain Kettle bristled. “Come, now, Hadj Mo- 
hammed, don’t you try that tone with me. I’m a 
man (as you’ve seen) that’s all for civility if it can 
be managed ; but if you choose to show ugly, there’s 
not a man more capable of handling you between 
here and somewhere hot.” 

The Sheik’s thin face darkened. 

“Do you think, Reis, that I am what I am with- 
out having learned how to take care of myself? If 
you do not choose to give orders to have the guns 


224 


A CUP OF TEA. 


brought off, they must be fetched without. I shall 
give orders for a kherb to put off from the water port 
at once.” 

“You may send not only one lighter, but ten, if 
you choose,” said Kettle contemptuously, “but you’ll 
get nothing you want out of my ship without my 
written order. I suppose you’ve had word brought 
off that the mate’s soft ; and that’s right, he is. But 
the ship’s not left in charge of Mr. Mate. That 
packet, till I get back to her, is in the care of my 
chief engineer, a Mr. McTodd, who’s also part 
owner till you’ve finished buying us out: and the 
Moors that get foul of McTodd during my absence 
will be damaged Moors. I believe the creature to 
be a poor engineer, and he’s certainly unqualified ; in 
religious matters he tends toward I don’t know what 
damnable Scotch heresies; but as a fighter — well, 
there are no flies on McTodd when it comes to a 
scrap. I’ve seen him at it a score of times now, and 
I may even go so far as to own that I have had a 
turn-up with him more than once myself. You see 
that cut that’s just healing on my cheekbone ? Well, 
that’s McTodd’s signature, and let me tell you, Sheik, 
there are many a score of men who would give an 
ear and two fingers to be able to boast that they had 
written as much.” 

“Half a minute,” broke in Fenner, “and don’t look 


A CUP OF TEA. 


225 


round. I don’t understand Arabic, but from the’ 
tone of your talk, and the ugly look that’s growing 
round his Excellency’s mouth, I gather that you’ve 
been pulling his gallant leg.” 

“We don’t seem to agree just yet.” 

“Well, he’s a primitive man, and he evidently sees 
much to approve of in primitive ways. Skipper, I 
say, don’t turn round. There are four rifle barrels 
covering us, and if you move too suddenly they may 
go off. I caught sight of them just now when I 
reached down for my hanky. They’re behind that 
green lattice-work window at the back of you, in 
the dark. Somebody opened a door there just for a 
second, and let the light in, and that’s when I got my 
glimpse.” 

“You frightened?” 

“I’ll take my cue from you,” coughed Fenner. 
“When you begin to shiver and shake, I’ll consider 
about doing the same. No, I shouldn’t say I’m 
scared, merely a bit thrilly, you know. Gives you 
heaps of pluck, of a kind, only to have one lung.” 

“What are you talking about?” asked Hadj Mo- 
hammed suspiciously. He pressed a shapely, thin 
hand against his brow, as though to sharpen his 
sight. 

Captain Kettle waved an airy cigar. “Mr. Fenner 
was merely letting me know that you had followed 


226 


A CUP OF TEA. 


out your dog’s instinct, and were preparing to have 
us murdered while we were partaking of your hospi- 
tality. Go ahead, Sheik, and tell your chaps to 
loose off. You won’t get your guns, but you’ll gain 
a distinguished reputation. Even the kids will 
point at your beard, and say, ‘There goes the coward 
who was so frightened of two Englishmen that he 
even had to smudge his hospitality before he dared 
to murder them !’ ” 

Sheik Bergash let off a long sentence in explosive 
Arabic, and finally came down to a mere calm ex- 
planation. “The men are my usual guard. We live 
here in troublous times, just now, Reis Keetle, and 
a guard is necessary. But if they make you fright- 
ened they shall be removed.” 

“Oh, not at all,” said the little sailor, with acid 
politeness. “Don’t let me interfere with any of 
your tribal customs. We each have our own little 
ways. For instance, of course, I have my own gun 
with me. It’s in the side pocket of my coat, as you 
can see by the outline when I press it sideways. I 
hate to carry a pistol there, because if you are ob- 
liged to shoot, it sets fire to your clothes and makes 
a nasty untidy mess. But there are occasions when 
you haven’t time to pull your fire-iron out of the sly 
pocket of your pants, and I guessed that one of them 
might occur up here in this whitewashed sitting- 


A CUP OF TEA. 


227 


room of yours, Hadj Mohammed. As a conse- 
quence, I’ve been quite ready all the time we've been 
squatting here to drill you through the bowels at less 
than half a second’s warning. I suppose you took 
me for something different, eh?” 

“Allah is very great,” said the Sheik, and gave 
orders for his men behind the green lattice to retire. 
“Reis Keetle, you and I will call a truce for the time 
being.” Again he wryed his face, and was ob- 
viously in pain. He loaded a thimble-sized pipe with 
keef, and took up its contents in three deep puffs of 
smoke. “I am not well, and men such as you and I 
cannot talk and treat at an even balance with fire 
and throbbings at work among their interiors. In 
the evening I will have a cous cousoo made, and 
while we eat that we will come to a settlement. As 
the hand lifts food to the lips, it sweeps away many 
disagreements.” 

“You have my permission to depart,” said Cap- 
tain Kettle quickly. He felt pleased with himself at 
slipping in this customary phrase before the Sheik 
could use it. “We’ll look in again about supper 
time. You don’t look well, Hadj Mohammed, and 
that’s a medical fact. You’ve probably eaten some- 
thing that’s disagreed with you. Best thing you can 
do is to turn in on your mat and sleep it off. Mr. 
Fenner and I will amuse ourselves by looking 


228 A CUP OF TEA. 

round the town, if the dust isn’t too much for 
his cough.” 

Captain Kettle’s meeting with the consumptive 
Fenner had been curious, and at first sight they had 
by no means taken to one another. His vessel lay 
in Gibraltar Bay, which does not always contain the 
smoothest water in the world, and on that particular 
morning, what with tide, swell, southwesterly 
squalls, and one thing and another, it was more than 
usually lively. He had ordered steam for 6 a. m., 
and here it was 9.30, and still the agent, Solomon, 
had not come off with final instructions, in spite of 
many urgent messages and signals. Captain Kettle 
had several times consigned the Rock and Rock 
Scorpions to a climate even hotter than their own 
highest recorded summer temperature, and he bit 
off the end of his eighth cigar with an energy that 
was savage. 

But as he raised his cupped hands to light a match, 
he saw a boat coming from the direction of the 
water-port mole, and heading directly for the ship. 

She was a small boat pulled feebly and wetly by 
two oars, and Kettle cursed Mr. Solomon’s econo- 
mies in not choosing a larger and speedier craft. 
“But there’s one comfort,” he grumbled, as he 
watched the boat tuck her nose into three consecu- 


A CUP OF TEA. 


229 


tive seas, “he’ll get a jolly good pickling for his 
pains. What’s more, if he doesn’t take to baling 
presently, I should say they’ll be swamped before 
they’re alongside.” 

But the passenger in the stern of the boat made 
no attempt either to bale or to steer; sat limp and 
huddled instead; and crouched incognito under a 
mackintosh and a hat with a generous brim. On to 
the foot of the ladder (when they arrived there) 
this person was pitched by the unceremonious boat- 
men, who, by way of proving that they had already 
received payment, rowed off promptly back for the 
shore. And there he huddled while the steamer 
rolled into three consecutive swells. 

“Drunk or not,” commented Kettle from the rail 
above, “I don’t have you drowning off my front 
doorsteps,” and sent down a pair of deckhands, with 
sharp orders. In the rude clutch of these the caller 
was dragged up to the deck level, and here dis- 
played, not the well-known lineaments of Mr. Solo- 
mon, but the blood-tinged lips and hectic face of an 
entire stranger. 

“Hullo,” snapped Kettle; “who in the tropics 
might you be?” 

“Fenner,” choked the visitor. “Sorry for this 
display, but it’s seasickness that brought on the 
hemorrhage again. I heard you were going to the 


230 


A CUP OF TEA. 


South Morocco coast, and wanted to beat a pas- 
sage. If only some one here knew a little about 
doctoring ” 

“Eh, what’s that?” asked Kettle, stooping down. 

“Ignorant looking lot,” gasped the visitor, with 
closed eyes. “What a beastly nuisance; got to peg- 
out now! All those beautiful schemes ahead and 
nothing done.” 

“What is it you want to do?” 

“Queer gamble, health is,” murmured the visitor, 
and forthwith leaned over into unconsciousness. 

“You look pretty sick, and that’s a fact,” solilo- 
quized Kettle. “You’re feeling nervous. You don’t 
seem to think I look much like a doctor, my lad, and 
other men before you have made that same mistake. 
If you could hear, I should like to point out to you 
that there are few people who know more about 
drugs than I do, and, what’s more, I’ve got a bottle on 
board that will get to work on your complaint right 
from the first dose you swallow. It says so on the 
label. By James, I’ll cure you, just to prove to you 
your blessed mistake. Here, you, take this gentle- 
man up to my room, and tell my steward to get the 
clothes off him, and rig him in some clean, dry 
pajamas.” 

Out of so uncompromising a commencement, then, 
a friendship sprang up between these two that was 


A CUP OF TEA. 


231 


very real. Fenner increased in strength and sound- 
ness every day, either because of Captain Kettle's 
patent medicine, or in spite of it, and the shipmaster 
found in him a companion entirely to his taste. 

“I heard of you ashore in Gib.," said Fenner, as 
soon as he could speak, “and I heard of you before 
from a fellow called Cortolvin I met at St. Moritz, 
and you've been the one man I've always wanted to 
have life enough to meet and to deal with. I've only 
got schemes. You’ve got health and vigor. It does 
me good, even to look at you.” Indeed, so thor- 
oughly did the invalid give himself up to that subtle 
form of flattery, hero worship, that not even the 
most austere of men could have avoided being 
gratified. 

By the time the steamer had worked her slow way 
down the Atlantic coast of Morocco to Mogador, 
Fenner was on his feet again, full of vigor of mind, 
but weak still in body; and by the time she had 
brought up to her anchor off the port of Casadir, 
which the Sultan has so long closed, and the Sheik 
ashore proposed to open, he was so far recovered, 
that he was able to go off to the shore in Kettle's 
company. 

“Bit of pretty bad luck finding his Excellency with 
stomach-ache,” said Fenner, as they left the Gover- 
nor’s house. “Speaking as an expert on the matter, 


232 


A CUP OF TEA. 


a man can’t help cantankering when he’s feeling sick. 
My aunt, Skipper, but this place does carry a hairy 
great stink with it.” 

“If it were six times as strong, I’d feel happier. 
It’s the smell of the skins they’re drying in the 
streets, and it’s skins that ought largely to pay the 
money that’s owing to me and McTodd. But as it 
is, the sok outside’s closed.” 

“The what’s closed?” 

“Sok — market outside the walls. The traders 
from Sus and the country round bring their camel 
loads there, and the Jews and Moors of Casadir buy. 
At one time Casadir used to be an open port, but the 
Sultan found he couldn’t collect his customs — the 
Governor froze on to all the cash, I suppose — and 
so he closed it, and the stuff had to be carried along 
on more camels to Mogador for shipment. That 
didn’t suit this town of Casadir, of course. It spelt 
busting for Casadir. So the Moors here, with Hadj 
Mohammed at the top of them, got their tails up, 

. scragged the Governor, and sent word to the Sultan 
of Morocco that his beard was about the most ridicu- 
lous piece of asses’ hair that ever wagged on a de- 
caying chin. You don’t know Arabic, Mr. Fenner, 
but you can take it from me that for putting real 
poetry into cast-iron hard language, there’s no 
tongue on earth that can equal it.” 


A CUP OF TEA. 


233 


Fenner laughed. “Well, I back you for being a 
good judge of both. Also of fighting. So the Sul- 
tan’s repartee was to send an army to batter the place 
down ?” 

“He sent the army fast enough, but there was no 
battering. There’s no such thing as a wheel road in 
Morocco, and the bridle tracks are far too bad for 
artillery. It’s as much as you can do to get mules 
over the bad places. So the army came, living on 
the country as they marched, and finally got here 
and sat down in front of the place. You’ve seen 
what it is : the cone of a steep hill ringed round half- 
way down with high, strong walls, and the town 
built on the apex. It would be a grand mark for 
long-range artillery, of course, but that’s what they 
haven’t got. They’ve no appetite for storming the 
place, and there, I don’t blame them, either. So 
they’ve simply sat down to starve it out, and that’s 
going to be a slow job, too. Hadj Mohammed’s no 
fool. He’d got three years’ barley and oil and pro- 
vision generally in the place before he began com- 
menting on the appearance of the Sultan’s beard, so 
as to give himself time to turn round and make his 
moves without being forced.” 

“The Sultan has a navy, though, hasn’t he? I 
had some sort of a rattle-trap belonging to him 
pointed out to me at Tangier.” 


234 


A CUP OF TEA. 


“That old tub! Why, she hasn't got a gun 
mounted. With half a dozen rifles I'd send her 
steaming away even with our Frying-pan. I told 
Solomon that when he first approached me about 
buying our packet for the job. But I did think 
there was better prospect of our getting paid. You 
know these Moors don’t believe in banking. They 
change their money into French gold louis, and hide 
them in big stone jars. Solomon solemnly assured 
me that the balance of the purchase price should be 
handed over here in Casadir, and for once I believed 
him. I was figuring on those jars of louis. As it 
is, the Sheik has no notion of parting with a peseta. 
Well, I’ve not only got Solomon’s deposit as security, 
but I’ve also got a good cargo of somebody’s guns 
and ammunition, not to mention the steamboat.” 

They had reached the gate which gave on the 
outer sok by this time, and through a wicket 
looked out upon the trenches of the besiegers, with 
their tents and horse lines at the foot of the slope. 
Tall, clean Moors, with tall, short-stocked guns 
squatted round them under the shade of the port, 
and passed with Kettle coarse, good-humored jests 
on the chances of the day. The Moor of Morocco 
is always in a genial temper with the savor of war, 
or hunting, or even of a small vendetta under his 
nostrils. 


A CUP OF TEA. 


235 


A peddler pressed among them with cakes and 
sweetmeats on a tray. A water-carrier shot a fine 
stream of water from his slung goat skin between 
bearded lips for an infinitesimal fee. 

“All this doesn’t seem to amuse you?” said Ket- 
tle to his friend. 

“Why, no. At the present moment I’m poor, and 
for my schemes that I told you about, I must have 
money, lots of money. Therefore, now I’m com- 
mercial, first, last and all the time. You said you 
wanted money, too, for the mortgage on that farm 
of yours in Wharfedale. So, why not see if we 
can’t turn a penny while we are waiting for His 
Whiskers to pay off his debt on the Frying-pan ? 
I’ve been thinking. Leaving the Sheik out of the 
question for the time being, here’s the simple 
plan ” 

But on this topic, confidences were abruptly 
stopped. Down the narrow, twisted street which 
led to the sok port, there came a growing roar of 
shouts ; then the spattering of shots, with which the 
Southern Moor always punctuates his higher emo- 
tions; and presently a solid phalanx of white jelabs, 
with yellow and red slippers twinkling in and out 
beneath, with a crop of turbaned heads carried along 
with them above. 

“The Sheik Bergash is dying,” they yelled. “He 


236 


A CUP OF TEA. 


has been poisoned by the N’zaranees. Death to 
them, death! death! death !” 

“Hullo,” said Fenner; “this looks like pulling 
down the curtain before our play has begun.” 

“I’ll thank you not to associate me with anything 
to do with theaters,” said Kettle sharply. “You 
must know quite well they are bang against my re- 
ligious convictions. If these swine are looking for 
trouble, by James, they shall have it.” He backed 
into a doorway and pulled Fenner to his side. 
“You’re no good with a gun, I know, so when it 
comes to shooting, aim at your man’s stomach, and 
you’ll about get him in the chest. That revolver of 
yours will throw up like a semaphore.” 

“I don’t think,” coughed Fenner, “that we can 
mop up the entire population of Casadir to our own 
cheek, but if you give the word, I don’t mind having 
a try. How about when my pistol’s empty?” 

“Use the butt. Fill your other fist with coppers 
to give it weight, and slug with that as well. Use 
your feet, and your knees, too, if they get near 
enough. It’s going to be ‘all in’ for this scrap. 
Don’t waste your wind.” 

“My wind !” chuckled his friend, “I like that. As 
if I ever had any wind to spare.” 

“By James !” groaned Kettle, “I forgot that. You 
mustn’t exert yourself to fight, or you’ll bring on 


A CUP OF TEA. 


237 


your hemorrhage again and spoil all my physicking. 
By James !” he snapped out, as Fenner broke into a 
roar of choking laughter, “if you don’t stop that 
fool’s noise, I’ll knock you down myself to keep you 
quiet.” 

But that uncanny laughter had a distinctly un- 
looked-for effect. The crowd, after being boxed up 
for so long in a beleaguered city, were naturally ripe 
for a little killing, and if some of them were killed 
in exchange, why that would make so many less 
mouths to fill. But the sight of that thin, gaunt 
man, doubling himself up with such unexpected 
mirth, daunted them altogether. 

They wavered, and at first did not know what to 
make of it. Then some one murmured “Madman,” 
and the idea grew ; and the crowd shrank back shud- 
dering, because they had been very near to slaying 
one whom Allah had especially smitten and pro- 
tected. 

“Hullo !” said Fenner, “I wish I understood Ara- 
bic; what are they frightened of, now?” 

“You,” said Kettle sourly. “They’ve got it into 
their heads that you’re dotty. I call it a piece of 
beastly impertinence.” 

“Oh, don’t call for a general apology on my ac- 
count. Perhaps they’re merely a guard of honor 
come to see us back to the Governor’s house.” 


238 


A CUP OF TEA. 


“Guard of skittles. They say we have poisoned 
the chap. I daresay he is poisoned right enough, 
too. That would explain all those wry faces he was 
pulling. Well, we shall be in a tight place if he pegs 
out, that’s all. We shall never persuade them we 
hadn’t a finger in.it. I wonder if there was poison 
in that tea, and he intended it for me, and got the 
glasses mixed. Shouldn’t wonder.” 

“What sort of poison strikes the popular fancy 
here?” 

“Arsenic. Ties them all up in knots, like a fish- 
ing line with an eel on it.” 

“An emetic’s the only thing for him, and then 
milk. Let’s go back to the palace and try and doctor 
him. It will show willing, anyway.” 

“That’s just what they’re suggesting. They’re 
offering a sort of guarantee, too, that they’ll let us 
get there all in one piece. Not that I care much for 
their guarantee. If I had been alone, I could have 
fought my way through the crowd — yes, and not 
have disliked the job, either.” He put this last sen- 
tence into contemptuous Arabic, and very nearly had 
the whole crew of them on to the top of him again. 

The Southern Moor is a fighting animal, and has, 
moreover, a gracefully high opinion of his own dig- 
nity. But the idea that the N’zaranees, if they had 
poisoned, could undo their work, was growing 


A CUP OF TEA. 


239 


stronger in them. If the Sheik Bergash died, they 
could still deal with his poisoners later; and if, on 
the other hand, the victim recovered, they remem- 
bered, with grim chuckles, that the Sheik was quite 
competent to mete out justice to those who had 
tampered with his interior. 

So presently Kettle and Fenner found themselves 
being escorted back whence they came by a crowd 
which, though talkative, was not actively interferent, 
and though Kettle’s bitter tongue lashed freely in 
fluent Arabic, they reached the Governor’s house 
without either being touched, or being forced to 
draw in their own defence. 

It seemed they were expected. The Sheik’s son 
met them at the inner door of the courtyard, and 
the outer doors clashed in the faces of their escort. 
The street outside hummed with their clatter. The 
house inside was full of armed men, and rustled with 
the whispers of unseen women. In the middle of 
the first courtyard was something covered with an 
untidy heap of draperies. 

“That,” said the Sheik’s son, “was a woman sent 
by the Sultan (whose name I spit upon) to my 
father. We knew her to be a spy, but kept her to 
find out through her who were the other spies. Her 
use is ended to us, and as she to-day gave my father 
a cup of tea, she is now that. As for the other spies, 


240 


A CUP OF TEA. 


they are found too, and their heads will to-night be 
thrown down the hill into the Sultan's camp where 
they belong.” 

“You don’t lose time, and that’s a fact,” said Ket- 
tle. “May I ask who it was that spread the report 
through the town here that it was we who gave your 
dad that cup of tea ?” 

The Sheik’s son spread his hands. “I cannot tell 
you. These common people are very ignorant. If 
the heads of six of them would appease you, I will 
see that they are sent off to your steamer.” 

Kettle translated this last offer to his friend. 
“Nice of him,” said Fenner. “Sort of local equiva- 
lent for a photograph, I suppose. But, so far as I 
am concerned, the gentlemen can wear their portraits 
a little longer. I say, .just ask if anything’s being 
done to his Excellency ? The longer that arsenic is 
left alone, the deeper holes it is digging in his 
inside.” 

Kettle asked, and the Sheik’s son shook his head. 

What was written was written. His father had 
made the Mecca pilgrimage, was a Haji, and, in fact, 
felt himself to be a very holy man, and refused to 
tamper with the Fate that was dealt out to him. 
Moreover, neither he, nor any of his household, nor 
the local hakim knew of any further prescription. 
A verse of the Koran, written on paper, burnt to ash, 


A CUP OF TEA. 


241 


and swallowed in a mouthful of water was a remedy 
for most ailments, but it was no antidote for a cup 
of tea prepared by the Sultan's woman — late woman, 
rather — and may dogs eat the Sultan, as they cer- 
tainly would what was left of his spy that very night. 

‘‘That’s all very natural and filial, I guess,” said 
Kettle, “but it doesn’t seem to me to get Hadj Mo- 
hammed any forwarder. He’s just fumbling out for 
the handrail to the bridge of El Sirat this minute, 
and if you don’t look out he’ll be dodging the pit- 
falls and walking over into Kingdom Come. 
(Heaven forgive me for talking this brand of theol- 
ogy, but I must make the pagan understand.) You 
needn’t regret trying to drag him back. I guess the 
Prophet will keep his share of green-petticoated 
ladies unfaded till he’s ready for them (and at any 
rate that’s sound theology, because, of course, there 
aren’t any ladies at all.) Come, now, my lad, do 
you give Mr. Fenner here and myself a free hand 
to try what we can do?” 

“I know you Inglees N’zaranees have wonderful 
remedies. But there must be no cutting. It is 
against our faith, and it would annoy my father to 
enter Paradise with wounds other than those a sol- 
dier could boast about.” 

Captain Kettle formally stroked his red torpedo 
beard. 


242 


A CUP OF TEA. 


“On my head be it. There shall be no cutting. 
Show us now your father, and send men who shall 
bring all things that Mr. Fenner here thinks he may 
want. If emetics can do it, and he's not too far 
gone to use them, we’ll have him scoured out down 
to the bare bone before you can tell off a chaplet of 
beads.” 

Of the remedies that were applied to the Governor 
of Casadir, and of the results they gave, there can be 
no more detailed mention in a polite record such 
as the present. For all the rest of that afternoon 
and for the succeeding night they wrestled for him 
(as his son said) with the angel Azrael with every 
art that occurred to them, and he very nearly slipped 
through their fingers. 

For the next two days, also, it was touch and go, 
and Mr. McTodd, who was in charge of the ss. Fry- 
ing-pan, then rolling to her anchors in Casadir 
Roads, sent off a much-thumbed note, which stated 
that if he was expected to keep steam for full speed, 
as ordered, Captain Kettle had better send off coals 
per bearer; also a bottle of whiskey, if undersigned 
was not to faint in the exhausting heat of engine- 
room, after thumping mate’s head at intervals, as 
per instructions. 

In a week’s time the Sheik was out of danger, 


A CUP OF TEA. 


243 


and the Frying-pan in the roads lay with drawn fires. 
From her at intervals Mr. McTodd sent notes which 
grew more insolent as their writer’s thirst increased. 
But Kettle saved these up for later reckoning. For 
the present, he had the Sheik and the Sheik’s debt to 
attend to, and also to spare an ear for the fine 
schemes of commercial aggrandizement which Fen- 
ner was constantly pouring into his ear. 

It was no feeling of gratitude on the part of Sheik 
Bergash that finally made him disburse the moneys 
that were owing. It was due to an accident. Dur- 
ing one of the worst spasms of his disease, Kettle had 
noticed a small string round the patient’s neck, which 
threatened to choke his last gasping breath. He cut 
this adrift, and, seeing a small notebook attached, 
put it in his pocket, and there forgot it. During the 
early part of the Sheik’s convalescence he missed this 
book, asked for it, and had it surrendered to him at 
once. Then he favored the little sailor with a stare 
that showed behind it anything but a grateful 
mind. 

"It is the custom of Moors, Reis Keetle, to write 
down in such booklets as these all the principal 
events of their lives, and then, when the Prophet 
takes them to his own place, their sons take the book 
and read it, and profit by what it contains. But, as 
frequently happens, other hands than a son’s get the 


244 A CUP OF TEA. 

book, and one profits to whom the dead man was 
no kin.” 

“B’ism illcih” said Kettle, seeing that he was ex- 
pected to comment. 

The Sheik moistened his lips. “There have ac- 
crued to me from time to time certain stores of coin, 
which I have poured into jars, and (as they filled)] 
hid them, one by one, there and here. The places of 
hiding are written in the book for my son.” 

“Oh, are they ?” said Captain Kettle. 

“It was always my intention to pay you honestly 
for the steamer, and for the weapons you have 
brought me. So you may take my men and dig for 
the jars which are hidden under the middle walk of 
the garden in the further courtyard. You will find 
there the sum complete.” 

“Pm sure I’m much obliged to your Excellency, 
and when I get the coin on board I’ll make you out 
a receipt with a stamp all complete. But did you 
imagine I went through that book I took from your 
neck ?” 

“Assuredly.” 

“Then you are wrong, my buck. I can’t read a 
letter of Arabic.” 

Sheik Bergash thumped a fist on to the mat be- 
side him, and used the only word in English that 
he knew. 


A CUP OF TEA. 


245 


Kettle grinned. “After all, that little word does 
ease you better than all the flowery Arabic that was 
ever invented. Well, there’s no time like the pres- 
ent, and I know you wouldn’t wish for a chance to 
change your mind. I’ll just settle up these little 
matters and go on board again. So long, for the 
present.” 

He left the room then, called men, and set about 
these new duties; and two hours later was being 
rowed off with Fenner to the steamer. 

“By James!” said he, patting the tiller, “won’t 
Solomon’s and McTodd’s eyes fairly bulge when 
they see the cargo of louis we have brought off. 
But there are those letters to square for first. You 
stand by, boy, and watch me settle up with McTodd. 
The dissolute mechanic! I’ll teach him the polite 
art of letter writing.” 

“I wish,” said Fenner regretfully, “I’d your 
strength or McTodd’s for a friendly turn-up of this 
kind. I’ve all the appetite for it; but as it is I can 
only stand outside the ring and look on. Don’t you 
think it’s rather hard to tantalize me?” 

“Oh, well,” said Kettle, “if you put it like that! 
Now, I tell you what. We’ll tap a bottle of whiskey 
instead. I’ve got one hidden, and McTodd will like 
it just as well.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE COMMAND OF THE SEA. 

“The trouble, you see,” said Mr. McTodd, “is 
coals. That argan oil they’ve sent off is too light 
for cylinder lubrication, as I've said, but now you 
tell me there’s a pinch, Captain, I think I can man- 
age by mixing it with what I have left. But the 
coal question’s a fair knock-out. The bunkers are 
nearly swept ; it would be all I could do to steam her 
to the Grand Canary Coaling Company’s transport- 
ers at Las Palmas, and that’s the nearest for rebun- 
kering; and if you stay on here for any more naval 
manoeuvres off this South Morocco coast, it will sim- 
ply mean putting sail on her again, and blowing to 
the Islands down the Northeast trades. I don’t know 
whether you like steamer sailing, Skipper, but it’s 
too slow for me.” 

“I’ve had quite enough of sailing this old Frying- 
pan already,” said Captain Kettle. “But if we don’t 
stay, the Sultan’s steamer will come in and blow 
Casadir into brickbats. She’s got a long gun, it 
seems.” 

“Looks as if we were in a regular hat,” coughed 
Fenner. 


246 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


247 


The engineer stepped out of the shabby chart- 
house, and stared across the water at the white town 
of Casadir on its conical hill, and at the great moun- 
tains beyond, with their patches of timber. He 
waved a black-nailed hand toward them. “I could 
burn wood at a pinch. Our furnaces here are no' 
adapted for it, like they are in the Mississippi trade, 
and Mobile, and those places, but you say it’s a 
pinch, Skipper, and I’ve had unwonted civilities from 
ye o' late, and I’m anxious to oblige.” 

“Wood?” said the little sailor bitterly. “You 
might as well ask for best Welsh steam coal at once. 
There are 30,000 of the Sultan’s troops between 
Casadir and those forests, and although they don’t 
show from here, we’d soon have their bullets sing- 
ing among any wood-cutting party we sent ashore.” 

“Weel,” said McTodd thoughtfully, “I never 
found a few bullets flickering about do me any harm. 
I’m a man o’ property now ; I’m a man so enormously 
rich that I could rebuild the kirk in Ballindrochater, 
which my father so long ornamented with his min- 
istry, without feeling it; but still in spite of that I’m 
keen not to miss this offer of the Sheik Bergash’s. 
Man, think of it ! I’m worth now all o’ twenty-five 
hundred pound, besides what I have settled on my 
mither from an adventure or two in the Arctic.” 

“Yes,” said Kettle, with a sigh. “We’ve been 


248 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


pulling it in, all of us. I’m ready to pay off that 
mortgage on my farm now, and get my eldest daugh- 
ter taught the harmonium by the best professor in 
Skipton, and have money in the bank besides. That 
is, when the money’s got home. At present you 
must recollect the most of it is here on the ship in 
hard gold louis.” 

“It’s the way with us millionaires like it is with 
the others of the breed ; we’re just bitin’ to get more. 
Man, Kettle, but money’s an awful responsibility.” 

“Also, I don’t want the Sheik of Casadir to have 
his end knocked in. That man got his tail up 
against the Sultan of Morocco, and he told me why, 
and I respect his reasons, and want to see him 
through with his trouble if it can be managed. I 
have seen,” the little man added simply, “trouble 
myself, and know what it means.” 

“I suppose it amounts to piracy,” said Fenner, “if 
we whack into the Sultan’s ship as things now 
stand?” 

“It does,” said Kettle, “but notwithstanding, if I 
was alone I should risk it. Down here in South 
Morocco we are a long distance from international 
law courts, and there are ways,” he added grimly, 
“of keeping people from talking. But there’s you 
to be considered. I’m not going to drag you with 
your bad lung into complications like these.” 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


249 


“I wish,” said Fenner testily, “you’d leave my 
lung alone, or at any rate, look at it the right 
way. Ordinary men can take things as they come ; 
I want to pack the experience of a lifetime into about 
two years, see? Also, I particularly want to save 
Casadir from that blackguard Sultan, and, more- 
over, to make Casadir exceedingly grateful to its 
salvors.” 

“Oh,” said Kettle, “they’ll give us gratitude 
enough, if that tickles you. They’ll kill sheep for 
us, and half choke us with perfumes, and then show 
us a powder-play to finish up.” 

“I want something much more prosaic than that,” 
coughed Fenner. “I want a trading concession. 
Casadir is the natural outlet of the Sus country at 
the back there, and, thanks to the paternal rule of 
the Sultan, the Sus trade has been as nearly stran- 
gled as it could be. There’s not a single blessed 
port or exit anywhere. Make one, and you’ll have 
oil, almonds, gum, barley, wheat, maize, hides, gold, 
metals, and ten other things pouring down to the 
coast as fast as you can ship them. The country’s 
as rich as blazes ; it only wants a chance.” 

“Well,” said Kettle impatiently, “everybody 
knows that, and so’s the moon rich, if what I read 
on that Chest Reviver patent medicine circular of 
yours the other day is true. The only trouble is, 


250 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


we’ve just as much likelihood of doing trade with 
one as with the other.” 

“The moon I’ll give you, but I want to have a 
hard try for Casadir.” 

“The moon?” said McTodd with a puzzled look, 
“I do not see how you could possibly get anything 
from the moon. Ye must know by the latest as- 
tronomical ” 

“Oh, dry up,” said the passenger. “Look here, 
Skipper, I want to know what’s wrong with the 
Casadir scheme. The Sultan will object, and I’m 
calculating on war with the Sultan. That we’ve got 
already, and are prepared for, and presently we’ll 
lick him off the face of the local land and water. 
But who else will interfere?” 

“The British Government for one.” 

Fenner’s keen, haggard face showed plain sur- 
prise. “Do you really mean that?” 

The grim head nodded assent. 

“But what’s the game ?” 

“Ah, now you’re asking me a prize conundrum, 
that’s quite beyond me. But I can give you a few 
plain facts about the British Government if you care 
to listen.” 

“Go ahead.” 

“To begin with, the Sultan of Morocco is a rather 
bad egg, and they know it. He’ll do nothing for his 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


251 


country, and does his best to prevent anybody else 
doing anything, and they know that, too. The Ger- 
mans and the French are pressing in and getting all 
the trade (that used to be ours), and all the in- 
fluence (which we used to have), and if our Govern- 
ment don’t know that as well, it isn’t for want of 
telling. But will they help a Britisher to get a fin- 
ger in the pie? Not they. More than that, if they 
catch him trying, they twist his tail. They’re what 
McTodd here calls a humorous lot.” 

“But what’s the game?” 

“I don’t know. I’ve often occupied myself by 
trying to wonder if they knew themselves. But,” 
the little man added with a sigh, “they are too deep 
for me. As a shipmaster I’ve used the seas for a 
considerable number of years now, and the British 
Government have sat down and spent a regular 
amount of hours each week in giving me annoyance. 
They’re a rum lot.” 

Fenner brought a lean fist down hard on to the 
end of the settee. “It’s the most amazing thing in 
the world. Here’s Britain with an enormous em- 
pire over seas, and it’s all been got in spite of her 
Governments. Clive, Hastings, Cromer, Rhodes, 
and the rest, they’ve all been fought against most 
bitterly by the very people they were trying to serve. 
Well, I suppose it’s that which gives the final relish 


252 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


to the occupation, and so produces the men who 
carry it out. The other nations would be only too 
pleased to help their chaps if they would get them 
new kingdoms, but no men come forward. Our 
dear folks at home oppose, thwart, blackguard, im- 
prison, and do everything they can to make the game 
awkward, and so there are plenty of us ambitious 
fools who want to play it, out of sheer delight at 
its hardness.” 

“I’ve read yon book of Jules V erne’s about a voy- 
age to the moon,” said McTodd, “and it’s scientifi- 
cally incorrect. I’m no’ decided myself just at pres- 
ent what means ye’d have to employ to get there.” 

“Let me understand this,” said Kettle, leaning 
forward. “I’ve heard a lot of these 'schemes’ of 
yours, boy, but I haven’t understood much about 
them, so far. Isn’t this your own row you’re 
hoeing?” 

Fenner laughed and flushed. “Isn’t it very sim- 
ple to understand ? I’m full of energy and ambition, 
and very empty of health. I’m a wretched consump- 
tive, and so I can’t look forward to founding a 
family, which is what nearly all other ambitious men 
do when they start on their ambitions. I’m the one 
in the million, and my fad goes in another direction. 
I’ve got the land-hunger on me, the national land- 
hunger, and I’m going to gratify it.” 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


253 


“But, boy, you’re a pauper. You told me so 
yourself.” 

“Oh, ways and means remain to be found. In- 
cidentally I shall have to get rich; first you must 
have tons of money if you want the power to work 
this game; and because I have very little time, I’ve 
got to get rich quick. If I’d got a long life ahead 
of me, for instance, I should say let this Casadir 
scheme slide, and look out for a more favorable 
opening. Want of coals is the thing that proposes 
to trip us up just now, I gather.” 

The sailor pulled angrily at his red torpedo beard. 
“That’s the trouble, boy, and I don’t see any way 
of getting to windward of it.” 

“And the Sultan steamer will have lots?” 

“Sure to have as much as she can stagger under. 
She’ll have put across to Gibraltar for bunkers be- 
fore she started down here. That’s her way.” 

“Nothing like being regular, so that people may 
know your habits. The plain thing to do then is 
to get the Sultan’s coals. That bags two birds with 
one stone : it leaves him helpless, and gives us plenty 
more string; I know it’s a large order, but ” 

“By James !” rapped Kettle, “we’ll do it. As for 
the how, that will bear a bit of thinking out. She’s 
got a big gun that will shoot a long distance. Our 
big gun, thanks to Solomon’s economies, is a second- 


254 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


hand relic, with the threads of the breechlock halt 
stripped, and the rifling all rusted away. The odds 
are it would burst in the firing, and it certainly 
wouldn’t throw to any useful distance. It seems to 
me a case for strategy.” 

“But look here,” said McTodd. “With regard to 
the moon, I’ve been thinking ” 

“Oh, blister the moon !” said Fenner. “Let’s get 
a boat into the water, Skipper, and nip off ashore, 
and fix things up with the Sheik. Hurry will be 
very useful just now.” 

“You’re right,” said Kettle. “We’ve got to get 
a move on us if we’re going to come out top side. 
Mac, I leave you in charge of the ship, and I’ll tell 
that putty-headed mate he’s to take his orders from 
you. If the Sultan’s ship gets here while I’m away, 
and looks ugly, heave up, and steam off down coast. 
We’ll join you somehow.” 

“Man, but running away’s a thing I don’t like. 
I thought the arrangement was we were to get hold 
of this Sultan’s ship and take the coal from her.” 

“Kindly carry out the orders that are given you,” 
snapped Kettle. “You can’t argue with a ship that 
carries a gun which will shoot four miles, and which 
she will use as soon as she’s within range. Can’t 
you remember that Casadir’s a closed port, and that 
our being here is bang against treaties and laws and 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


255 


everything? And there’s another thing. Just you 
pull yourself together and keep off the drink. There’s 
only one bottle of whiskey left, and I want to keep 
that for a special celebration.” 

“My good Captain Kettle,” said the engineer 
solemnly, “the responsibility of this great fortune 
I’m possessed of has changed me to a different man. 
Besides, what’s the use of one single bottle for a 
man with my coefficient of absorption to sit down 
to start a bout at ?” 

A boat presently left the Frying-pan (as the 
steamer had now come to be firmly nicknamed) and 
pulled off parallel to a beach that was littered with a 
noisy surf. The northeast trade was blowing 
strongly and the swell ran high, and Kettle passed 
a malediction on the sand which would be filling the 
atmosphere ashore. “It’s disagreeable for any one,” 
said he, “but with your sick lungs, boy, it’s more 
than dangerous. I shall leave you in the boat and 
go up and do my bit of business with old Hadj Mo- 
hammed, and then come back for you. You won’t 
have so much sand blown down your throat if you 
stay by the boat.” 

“Don’t keep harping on my decimal of a lung. 
To begin with it’s bad taste, and to go on with it 
tends to make me hurry things unduly.” 

“But, my good boy -” 


256 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


“Now, Skipper, kindly dry up.” 

The little sailor sighed, but for a wonder did not 
persist. This tall wreck of a young man, with his 
hollow cheeks and great beak of a nose, had come 
strangely to dominate him. At first it was Fenner’s 
bodily weakness that had appealed to him ; but then 
the glamour of the man’s magnificent ambitions be- 
gan to fascinate him; and presently here was Cap- 
tain Kettle, a fellow with an overweening love of 
power himself, and one who never took an order 
civilly, allowing himself to be quietly ordered about. 

The beach offered no chance of landing that day, 
so Kettle took his boat through the noisy spouting 
flurry of broken water which marked the river bar 
to the southward, and for a short time came within 
range of the besiegers’ lines, from which the Sultan’s 
troops promptly favored them with an erratic fire. 
The oarsmen of his boat said they had not been hired 
to be shot at, and wished to return. But the appli- 
cation of the little sailor’s venomous tongue, and the 
threat of a clubbing from the oaken tiller, reduced 
them very quickly to sullen obedience, and presently 
a bluff gave them shelter from the gun-fire. 

Beyond a half mile of flat the town reared up on 
its hill, deliciously white under the sunshine, grace- 
ful with minarets, and delicately pleasing to the eye. 
The great encircling wall below dished it up with all 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 257 

possible neatness. Kettle gazed upon it appre- 
ciatively. 

“Yes,” said he; “forget the smells inside those 
walls, and the garbage in the streets, and you could 
write poetry about Casadir that even a fat-headed 
magazine editor could see the beauty of.” 

“Blister the poetry !” said Fenner irritably. “Tell 
me how we are going to get there. The water port’s 
shut, but I suppose if we went up and knocked they’d 
open it. If we could run, it would be all right. 
Those marksmen over there have got muzzle loaders, 
and don’t loose off at moving targets. But I can’t 
run — at least not half a mile. And if we walk, we 
shall be jugged for an absolute certainty.” 

“I don’t think it, and anyway, as I shall walk on 
the weather side, you’ll have the benefit of my 
doubt.” 

“Fat lot of good that would be to me. Do you 
think a man of my length could get under the lee of a 
shrimp like you?” 

Kettle turned on his friend with a sudden acidity. 

“Now, look here, my lad, you make one more re- 
mark upon my personal appearance, and you’ll feel 
the heft of my fist, lungs or no lungs.” 

“I beg your pardon. I’d forgotten it was a sore 
subject, and I really did not mean to rile you. But 
a fix like this is maddening. I can’t afford to wait. 


258 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


because there is so little time for things ; I don’t want 
to get killed, because there are so many things to do ; 
and here we are at a rather bad kind of deadlock. 
Isn’t there another way of climbing into this blighted 
town ? Can’t we get back over the bar again to sea, 
and have a try at running through the surf for the 
old landing place?” 

“Not a cat-in-oven chance — what’s that you’re do- 
ing now?” 

“Waving to those jokers on the walls. It’s too 
far off to see if there’s any one we know, but they’ll 
guess who we are right enough, and I don’t see 
what’s wrong with their hammering out the fact 
that we’re here for business, and not merely to pay a 
polite call. By Allah, they’ve tumbled ! Look 
there!” 

Of a sudden the valves of the water port were 
flung open, and the archway emitted a gush of horse- 
men. With much crackling of guns these galloped 
across the plain and brought up momentarily on the 
river bank with a swirl of draperies. They had with 
them two led horses, and ten seconds later these were 
mounted by riders, and the sortie returned through 
a whistling hailstorm of home-made slugs. Two 
horses dropped and their riders jumped clear, and 
ran on, each clutching a friend’s stirrup-leather, and 
three horses came in riderless. 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


259 


“It was written,” said the captain of the water 
port, as he let them in, and the great doors swung 
shut again, “it was written that three fortunates 
who rode out from here ten minutes ago, unsuspici- 
ous of fate, should now be smiling on their brides 
in Paradise. Here you, take Reis Kettle and the 
man with the great nose (on both of whom be much 
honor) to the carpet of the Sheik Bergash, and do 
you other dregs of the sok refrain from crowding 
these truly great men.” 

Their progress thence to the Sheik’s house would 
have been an unbroken ovation, but for Kettle’s dis- 
like for one particular catch-word. The crowd, with 
the desperation of a long-besieged people, leapt at any 
chance of succor, wove a thousand stories of relief 
from the return of these two Europeans, and shouted 
their encouragements with Oriental effusiveness and 
imagery. 

They clapped on Fenner a catch name and attri- 
butes from his big nose which would probably have 
made him blush if he could have understood the 
flowery Arabic, though as it was he rode on only 
placidly tickled. But Kettle they unfortunately ac- 
claimed as el reis seria — the little captain — and let 
loose upon themselves a squall of that mariner’s bad 
temper. 

The sailor was acutely sensitive on the subject of 


260 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


his inches, and already that hot morning Fenner had 
touched him on this sore spot. For the united dregs 
of the Casadir bazaars and soks to take up the cry 
behind him was too much. Again and again he 
spurred his horse into the mobs, trampling on slip- 
pered feet, and (worst insult he could think of) 
knocking off turbans and slapping the shaven heads 
beneath them. 

At the first moment the pair were within a hair’s 
breadth of annihilation. Life is always perilously 
cheap in those towns of Southern Morocco, and in 
Casadir just then, after a year’s siege and its ac- 
companying atrocities, the value of a life had come 
down almost to the vanishing point. The Moor is 
a man with a very nice and touchy honor, and the 
cry arose of “Infidel' ! Infidel ! Kill ! Kill !” 

But on one of the bald pates so rudely exposed, 
some wag of the sok suddenly discovered the claw- 
ings of female nails, and in that poetical Arabic, 
which clothes all these things so delicately, yelled out 
some ribald reference to domestic infelicity. The 
Moor has also among his many other attributes a 
quaint and frisky humor. With laughter twisting 
one side of the mouth, and murder curling on the 
other, the crowd swayed for a moment, and then 
took the brighter view. 

“El reis seria,” they yelled, “serial serial ” and 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


261 


when again and again Kettle charged viciously 
among them, it was with laughter that they warded 
off his buffets, not with the up cut they could so 
neatly deliver with the curved dagger. 

At length two heated Europeans, one much shaken 
with laughter, and the other with indignation, were 
admitted to the great house of the Governor, and 
after walking through courtyards, and gardens, and 
many corridors, were ushered to the place where the 
great man himself sat smoking keef on his carpet. 

“ Slamma ” said Kettle. “I have never been so 
much insulted in my life, Hadj Mohammed. Every 
son of a dog in your town seemed to think he’d a 
right to yap at me as I rode up.” 

“Slamma alikum,” said the Sheik Hadj Moham- 
med Bergash. He took one of the long five-foot 
guns from his guard, withdrew the ramrod, and 
handed this to Kettle. “Reis Keetle, an insult to 
you touches very nearly myself. To-morrow I will 
send to you the tongues of these talkers, who are, 
as you truly say, sons of dogs. If the tongues when 
threaded on that ramrod do not fill it, with a dishful 
over, I give you leave to call me a niggard, and fur- 
ther permission to come here and tear out my tongue 
also.” 

Captain Kettle stirred uneasily in his seat. “I 
didn’t want you to rub it in quite as hard as that,” 


262 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


he said rather haltingly, but the Sheik put away his 
objections with a wave of his small brown hand. 
“You may consider the thing as done,” said he. “I 
wish I could do more to show my consideration for 
you. To say the truth, we men are cheap here in 
Casadir just now, and if the Sultan’s troops break 
in, which they assuredly must when the ship comes 
with her gun to help the army below there, why then 
it will matter little when all heads are cut off whether 
or not there are tongues left to wag in them.” 

“Don’t apologize,” said Kettle pleasantly. 
“You’ve told me something I very much wished to 
know. You’ve owned up to being desperate, and 
therefore you won’t grudge me a lot of men to help 
me carry out a scheme Mr. Fenner and I have 
set our hearts on. We’re going to mop up 
that Sultan’s steamer for you when she shows herself 
here.” 

“You may have half the men in the place to use 
if you need them, and if all are lost it cannot be 
helped. There is no other hope to save the rest — 
and our women, and the children, who will otherwise 
be taken as slaves. Slarnma, Reis Keetle, I kiss 
your hand. You are a brave and generous man. 
Does his Excellency Fenner take command with 
you ?” 

“Here, I say, Skipper,” Fenner interrupted, “just 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


263 


translate a bit. I hear the pair of you using my 
name, but I can only pick up one word in ten from 
the rest of your Arabic. What’s this about half the 
men in Casadir?” 

“I reckon it will take that amount to mop up the 
Sultan’s steamer. Don’t you make any error, boy. 
It’s going.to be an uncommon tough job.” 

“And what’s the pay, what’s the reward?” 

“I haven’t bargained for that yet.” 

“Very unbusinesslike of you, then. Tell him 
that if we clear away this steamer for him that the 
investing army at the inland side of the town will 
retire from lack of supplies, and so Casadir will be 
practically an open port, and he himself will be an 
independent chief, and clear, at any rate for the 
time being, of that feeble scoundrel of a Sultan. 
Rub it into him that although this is what he’s been 
aiming at all along, he hasn’t been able to get it 
without our help, and then just tell him that we want 
our fee.” 

“Oh, you’ve settled in your mind, then, what it’s 
to be?” 

“What you and I want — and are going to have — 
is a concession of the whole of the shipping from 
Casadir after trade is opened again.” 

“But what’s the use of getting him to agree to it ? 
He’d give us his promise fast enough, but, even if we 


264 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


had it all written out, and the names signed to it 
across a sixpenny charter party stamp, it wouldn’t 
be worth the paper it’s written on if he chose to 
show slippery. You can’t pin these sort of foreign- 
ers, boy, with anything short of a gun. The only 
way to boss this town is to turn out Hadj Moham- 
med altogether when we’ve mopped up the Sultan’s 
army, and for me to be Sheik in his place. Then 
anything that I say is concessed will remain so.” 

“It will very probably come to that, or something 
like it. But, in the meanwhile, you get the agree- 
ment down in black and white, Skipper, and then 
afterward when the Powers begin to ask questions — 
which they will — we shall have something to wave 
in their faces.” 

“Oh, very well, boy!” said Kettle, “anything to 
oblige,” and put the condition before the Sheik, by 
whom it was promptly accepted. Indeed, the poor 
man was in so desperate a plight just then that he 
had no alternative; and, besides, with repudiation 
always at the back of his mind, it really seemed to 
him to make very little alteration in the odds whether 
he signed ten such documents. 

The Sheik Bergash in his then condition has 
struck many of his observers as a figure of pathos. 
He was a man of much capacity on the lower scale, 
and chance, mistaking him for something bigger, 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


265 


had pitchforked him into a position which a Napo- 
leon might well have shirked. 

In one of the most barbarous and powerful em- 
pires of the modern world, he was set up, with 
ridiculously small resources, as the head of a body 
of seceding rebels. If, as seemed probable, his 
amiable sovereign put him to rout, a comprehensive 
massacre and the sowing with salt of all his deso- 
lated territory would be prompt award. And if, on 
the other hand, he was lucky enough to maintain a 
sturdy independence, promptly there would descend 
upon him the net of European diplomacy, and in 
the meshes of that he would merely struggle him- 
self into exhaustion. 

But Mohammed Bergash did not look so far ahead 
as this. Let the Sultan’s army be cleared away, and 
the Sultan’s ship be sunk, and he saw only prosperity. 

Captain Kettle, too, was more man of action than 
far-seeing diplomatist. The new four-point-seven 
gun on the Sultan’s steamer seemed to him the one 
and only key to the situation, and once it was taken, 
at whatever expense to the attacking force, then the 
future would run on easy machinery. 

But Martin Fenner had the power to look upon 
things more with a statesman’s eye. As he sat there 
in that heated room, he remembered his previous 
gleanings on the subject, and put these together. 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


2G6 

He remembered that the Great Powers of Europe, 
always as jealous as cats of one another, looked upon 
Morocco as the next slice of Africa to go to one or 
another of them in the general scramble. He re- 
called that each was firmly determined to make war 
on any other which did the actual grabbing ; and so 
as a result they all sat around and watched the Em- 
pire crumble ; but at the same time all showed nerv- 
ousness and suspicion if the crumbling process in 
any one district took place with any unseemly 
rapidity. 

It was with this charming country, then, that Cap- 
tain Kettle still kept his fortunes, though he might 
well have retreated from it with a decent competence. 
But there was that lively condition which he always 
spoke of as “trouble” in the air, and this was a state 
of things which habit had made to him an almost 
necessary ingredient of his existence. 

The white sunshine of the streets outside the Gov- 
ernor’s house was cooled by a strong trade, which 
blew with it a burden of sand, that irritated Fenner’s 
throat, and made him cough and swear. But they 
had small enough leisure to give attention to these 
minor discomforts. In the space of the next few 
hours it was more than probable that one or 
both of them would be killed, and in the mean- 
while there was abundant necessity to make all 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 267 

preparations, so that this exit should not be made 
uselessly. 

In one of the open market spaces of the town men 
were collected by criers, ranged into line, and told 
that presently when night came they would be 
formed into a forlorn hope to give their lives for 
the safety of the town. 

Most of them heard the news without emotion ; a 
few, indeed, showed placid satisfaction; not one of- 
fered an objection. 

“By Jove, but they’re a plucky lot!” said Fenner 
admiringly. 

Captain Kettle’s brow darkened. 

“They think, according to their misguided re- 
ligion, they’re booked for Paradise, but according to 
my theology, they’ll be badly surprised at the cli- 
mate they do bring up in on the other side. If I’d 
time, I should much like to convert some of them to 
the true fold before they start.” 

“Wouldn’t it be better if we could keep them this 
side of the Styx a bit longer ? They’re fine men, and 
it seems such a pity to waste them. Besides, once 
we’ve got Casadir in running order again we shall 
want all the men we can get.” 

“It can’t be helped. When the Sultan’s boat 
comes and has brought up to her anchor, we must 
just pack men into all the kherbs they’ve got down 


268 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


there in the river — lighters, that is, you know — pull 
out across the bar, and take that steamer with our 
hands.” 

“I don't see that such a scheme would have a 
chance.” 

“I do,” snapped Kettle. “I’ve tried the same sort 
of thing before, and brought it off all right. It’s 
only a question of having enough boats and enough 
men. They can’t sink all before you come up 
alongside.” 

“H’m,” said Fenner thoughtfully. “D’ye think 
that courier from Mogador that the Sheik’s fellows 
grabbed with the message to the Sultan’s army here 
was genuine?” 

“He got killed fast enough, and as for the chit he 
carried, I had that read out to me, and it sounded 
all right. Their steamboat put into Mogador to 
mend up machinery. They’d broken down three 
times in the engine-room since leaving Tangier, had 
lost one anchor and fifty fathoms of chain, but ex- 
pected to get on here by the late afternoon of to-day. 
All those breakdowns sound too natural for a faked 
message. Of course, the clumsy fools may pile her 
up between Mogador and here, but that’s hardly an 
event for us to reckon on.” 

“Not a bit. No, Skipper, she’ll come, and we’ll 
make use of her. That loss of one anchor simplifies 


COMMAND OF THE SEA, 


269 


things very much. We’ll grab her for the new 
kingdom of Casadir, and with that four-point-seven 
gun we’ll hold command of the local seas. Now just 
put your ear close. I don’t want the whole world 
here to listen.” 

Martin Fenner whispered twenty words, and then 
Captain Kettle stepped back and looked at him ad- 
miringly. “Well, of all the blasted impudence!” he 
said. 

“I believe it could be carried through.” 

“I’ll do it for you on one condition. You’re not 
to try and come too. It would be just suicide for 
you with your sore lung to risk the exposure.” 

“I can’t come possibly,” said Fenner, “I can’t 
swim a stroke.” 

Then Kettle turned to the men drawn up in the 
square, and in his broken Arabic informed them 
that before their forlorn hope set off, a still more 
forlorn hope would precede them, and for this he 
asked for six volunteers who were to be swimmers. 
The whole five hundred stepped forward, and he 
picked his half dozen. Finding, however, on cross- 
examination that none of these could swim a yard, 
he beat them over the head for deceiving him, and 
made a fresh selection. Then he told the rest that 
there was no chance of Paradise for them that even- 
ing, and that on another occasion, when he had a 


270 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


little more time, he would give them a more accurate 
description of their destination. He added that they 
had his permission to depart. 

That night Martin Fenner sat on a housetop in 
Casadir, and coughed, and watched, and sweated 
with weakness and anxiety. Over the sea below the 
town was spread a black curtain of night, unbroken 
by either moon or star — vast, empty, achingly un- 
tenanted. And yet somewhere in that void before 
him was Kettle and his six men in desperate am- 
bush. 

Into this blackness about midnight there slid the 
lights of a steamboat, coming slowly in from the 
north. Presently the steamboat stopped, but the 
sounds of her anchoring did not reach him. The 
roar of the beach below and the whistle of the trade 
drowned all lesser noises. Then the blackness 
snapped over the steamboat’s lights, one by one, till 
all were eclipsed. 

Fenner rubbed his lean hands and tried to think 
that the watch she kept was slatternly, and waited 
and waited on through the drearily dragging hours 
of half the night. 

It was not till the dense black of the scene was 
turning to gray that the hint was given him that 
Captain Kettle had put his plan into action. The 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


271 


steamer showed in dim outline on a' heaving sea, 
white-crested. From the forepart of her, low down 
near the water’s edge, came>a sudden snap of flame, 
which was gone in a moment. In the growing light 
men showed on her decks, running about like white- 
sheeted ghosts, and presently dawn sprang up be- 
hind the great crags of the Atlas inland, spread over 
the sea, and in another minute it was glaring day. 

Fenner put a hand over the bridge of his great 
beak of nose, and peered out at the bright-lit 
waves. Yes, there were one, two, six, seven dots of 
heads swimming in hard for the shore. Other eyes 
saw them at the same time, and from the steamer 
broke out an ill-aimed crackle of musketry. 

The Sultan’s steamer was plainly adrift. The 
flash that had shown through the end of the night 
was the firing of a cake of gun-cotton which had cut 
through her riding cable. Plainly also she was out 
of command. Captain Kettle and his men had con- 
trived to swim off the heavy chain with its 
floats all right, and had wound it round propeller 
blades and rudder, and had shackled the ends, and 
made the Sultan’s steamer into a helpless hulk. Her 
people had tried to get her under weigh. Steam 
shot from her escapes, and oozed from the engine- 
room skylight. Evidently also they had achieved 
another of their breakdowns. 


273 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 


Then boom went the four-point-seven gun on her 
main deck, and from somewhere above him in the 
town came the crash of masonry. 

The steamer drifted in rapidly toward the surf 
under the push of the brisk trade wind, and seeing 
destruction before her, fired with vicious energy. 
Out of thirty-four shots she made six hits, and did 
an inconsiderable amount of damage, and then she 
took the ground, and the men of Casadir went down 
to the brink of the surf to pay what attention was 
due to her people. 

But half an hour before this final event took place, 
the sea decanted on to the beach Captain Owen Ket- 
tle and his two remaining men, and him Fenner 
greeted as a man who has looked on victory from 
afar greets the actual conqueror. 

“Skipper, ” he said earnestly, “I believe you’re one 
of the greatest Englishmen of the day.” 

“I’m Welsh by birth all the same, if you don’t 
mind, boy, though most people forget it. Here, for 
James’ sake let me find my clothes. A man can’t 
keep his respect unless he’s properly dressed. Then 
we’ll take a boat to the Frying-pan and see about 
hauling this other packet off the ground when the 
Sheik’s men have done handling her people.” 

They did this, and were met at the head of the 
ladder by a very smiling McTodd. “Man, Fenner,” 


COMMAND OF THE SEA. 273 

said he, “I see now what ye meant by yon reference 
to the moon. With regard to a journey to it, my 
father, who was minister at Ballindrochater, took up 
mathematics at Aberdeen University before he 
studied theology, and I mind in one of his sermons 
about the moon ” 

“Oh, to blazes with the moon!” said Kettle. 
“Come into the chart-house and let’s split that last 
bottle of whiskey. When that’s down, we shall have 
a sweet job in pulling the other half of the Casadir 
navy off the ground there. We shall want both 
steamboats if we’re to keep command of the sea 
round here.” 


CHAPTER X. 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 

The Moor who brought the news of the disaster 
to Fenner in his office in Casadir had never seen a 
wild animal behind bars, but his description of Cap- 
tain Owen Kettle in that horrible prison far away in 
the heart of the Sus country, had much in it that was 
pathetic as well as terrible. 

This man, Mazelle, was the only creature that had 
escaped alive out of the ambush. Others — men, 
camels, mules and horses — had straggled, but these 
had all been cut off as in their panic they headed back 
for the Sus river up whose valley the caravan had 
made its way from the Moroccan coast. Mazelle, 
with a fanatical devotion to his Reis Keetle, had fol- 
lowed him and his captors into that unmapped town 
of the far African interior, and had there killed a 
water-carrier, and taken up his water-skin and busi- 
ness through the single desire to be near his N’zar- 
anee chief. 

Said Mazelle: “I been fighting man all my life, 
Excellency. I seen plenty fine men, great sheiks, 
274 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


275 


great kaids. But I never saw one with more man 
in him than Reis Keetle. That is why I went back 
to be his follower still, even though he had fallen. ,, 

His picture of the common prison, into which the 
wounded sailor was thrown, was sufficiently horri- 
ble, and Fenner remembered with grim dismay that 
this same Mazelle had been an inmate of more pris- 
ons than one himself, and so had grown callous to 
many of their abominations. The man went on to 
tell how for three months he had lain in this town, 
traveling daily between the river and the soks with 
his skin of earth-reddened water, waiting with a 
fine Oriental patience for a chance to come at Kettle, 
and gain speech with him. 

The danger of death and torture which hung over 
him all this time was so obvious that he did not men- 
tion it. He recounted only his various attempts to 
get Kettle to that wicket in the prison through which 
the inmates were accustomed to thrust out skinny 
hands for daily alms, and to sell their miserable 
wares. 

At length, after that three months of infinitely 
dangerous waiting, he saw his man. An emaciated 
Kettle came to the wicket, a man gaunt and fierce- 
eyed beyond description, yet carrying a certain 
spruceness still in spite of the unspeakable squalor 
of his surroundings. He was offering a mat he had 


276 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


made, sailor-fashion, out of a chance found piece of 
old rope, either for sale, or in barter for food. 

For this poor furniture Mazelle gravely bargained, 
in competition with other purchasers of prisoners’ 
wares, and in the meanwhile, Kettle, who had recog- 
nized the man, and guessed his errand, wrestled with 
his poor diplomacy to find some message which 
would sound unsuspicious in the ears of bystanders. 

At the same time he was forced, after the custom 
of the land, to cry up his wares. “Look well at the 
mat, O purchasers, a mat woven by the arts of the 
sea, a mat fit to honor the butt end of kaids.” To 
which Mazelle would reply: “Observe this cons 
cousoo, made from the finest barley and the fattest 
sheep, and flavored with butter at least seven years 
of age. Observe when I stir it with my finger, thus. 
Observe how splendid is the fatness of that joint of 
tail. Smell at it, unbeliever, smell!” 

At last the purchase was made, and the mat was 
handed over for the consideration of a bowl of 
rancid-smelling stew, and the little sailor, in his 
scanty Arabic, delivered himself thus: 

“O purchaser, may Allah’s favor increase on you ! 
If you have a master, tell him quickly of the mat that 
he may come here and himself feel desire for another 
like it.” 

“O prisoner,” said Mazelle, giving a final twist 


AN EXCHANGE OP LEGS. 277 

up to his turban before going away, “O prisoner, I 
will seek my master, and tell him — and with that, 
O Excellency-with-the-great nose,” he added, on re- 
porting this account to Fenner, “I left the town and 
ran down the great valley to you here in Casadir 
above the sea, eating from the country as I came.” 

“You don't seem to have thriven very much on it,” 
said Fenner, looking at the man's thin, worn face 
and ragged, stained jelab. 

“I earned six wounds on the way,” said Mazelle 
simply, “from those who would have forbidden me 
food. Had the message been from another, and to 
another, I should not have found spirit to carry it 
through.” 

“Honor shall be done you for this,” said Fenner 
warmly, “in a way that will surprise you. In the 
meanwhile, take this rifle which will throw eight 
bullets further than a man can see, and that without 
reloading.” 

Mazelle eyed the weapon doubtfully. 

“May your Excellency's cough be eternally re- 
lieved. But the gun has a long English stock, and I 
could not use it for powder play.” 

“I will send the gun down to an armorer in the 
bazaar, and he shall fit to it a short stock to your 
liking, with a heel-plate a span and a half in length, 
and decorate it choicely with ivory and metals.” 


278 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


“Slamma” said Mazelle, brimming over into 
many smiles. “May your Excellency sit hereafter 
upon happiness, and have children more in number 
than the hairs of your servant’s beard.” 

“There, there,” said Fenner testily, “that will do,” 
and went out to there and then arrange about a 
punitive expedition. Any reference to children al- 
ways irritated him. He was a man who yearned 
for the joys of domesticity, but consumption forbade 
him ever to think of marriage. 

This capture of Captain Kettle, though entirely 
unexpected, was by no means untypical of the gen- 
eral restlessness of Southern Morocco. With the 
assistance of Kettle, Fenner, and — in a less degree — 
of Mr. McTodd, the Kaid of Casadir, Hadj Moham- 
med Bergash, had brought his rebellion against the 
Sultan to a successful end. The imperial troops had 
been driven away, killed, or induced to change al- 
legiance; caravan trade had come in with a rush; 
the port had been declared open; and the three as- 
sisting British had got a monopoly of the carrying 
trade overseas, and a large merchanting business in 
London and Europe. Success had apparently ar- 
rived all in a day’s time. 

But presently the usual Oriental hinderers began 
to assert themselves with grim, red persistency. 
With the restarting of the caravans, there was a res- 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


279 


urrection of those who lived by looting them. The 
local robber barons in their hilltop castles sent word 
to the camel trains that they had recruited their 
garrisons, and demanded tolls for keeping the peace 
of the road; the confidence men, the beggars, the 
saints, and the other parasites dropped the various 
kinds of work they had been forced into during the 
days the caravans were interrupted, and with sighs 
of relief took up again the lighter task of sponging 
on travelers ; and local highwaymen again sat beside 
each his old section of road, to point out to the soli- 
tary wayfarer how much safer he would have been 
as a unit of one of the larger convoys. 

In the sok outside the walls of Casadir men talked 
these things over in high-flavored Arabic, not, be it 
observed, pointing them out as a scandal, but merely 
as an unfailing evidence of good, sound trade. 

It was over this nicety that Captain Kettle 
made his mistake. Said he, after the particularly 
atrocious cutting-up of one camel train: “This 
has got to stop. Til make this Sus valley as safe 
as Wharfedale, where I live when I am at home, and 
where my missis and girls are to-day.” 

The Sheik Bergash spread out two elegant, small, 
brown hands. “It is the custom, and it always has 
been the custom with these Berbers. Even the 
Romans could not stop it when they were here. 


280 


AN EXCHANGE OE LEGS. 


Moreover, if these fighting men now spread out by 
handfuls in the castles, and singly along the road, 
were put out of employ by an armed force, they 
would presently gather together to assert their 
rights, and perhaps attack Casadir.” 

“Those we handle,” said Kettle grimly, “will 
cause very little further trouble to anybody.” 

“They’d take an awful lot of catching,” said Fen- 
ner, “and it might lead to complications. Much bet- 
ter wink at things till we’re a bit more firmly estab- 
lished here.” 

But Kettle stuck doggedly to his point. “I’ve 
seen the chap that didn’t get killed in this last cut- 
ting-up. The brutes had lopped the hands and feet 
from every mother’s son of them, and left them to 
crawl in here as best they could. I don’t say any- 
thing about these road-agents ruining them; I’ve 
been ruined myself heaps of times, and always pulled 
through somehow; but mutilation’s another tune,- 
and I’m going to stop it. By James, yes ! I don’t 
ask you two to chip in. Anyway, Sheik, you’re 
wanted here to run the show, and you, boy, must 
stay to have cargoes ready for McTodd, when he 
brings the steamboat round. Besides, there’s your 
soft lung to consider. No, I’m the man to arrange 
these funerals, and we’ll call that settled, please, and 
change the subject.” 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


281 


In this determination then, Captain Owen Kettle 
had set out from Casadir, and leaving the seacoast 
behind him, had worked his way up the valley of the 
Sus River. He had with him a band of men so 
nicely regulated in size that in the first place they 
did not attract conspicuous attention, and in the sec- 
ond, they would be able to turn the tables on any 
attack. Moreover, they were armed with Marlin 
rifles, which could fire eight shots in eight seconds, 
and as the local long-barreled flintlock only fires its 
eight shots per hour, this gave them a fine advantage. 

With the help of this following Kettle swept the 
trade routes with a merciless severity. The men he 
caught were a hindrance to the development of the 
country, and incidentally they were murderers. 
They expected execution, and he gave it them; but 
to provide them with a better chance of the hereafter, 
he offered to each the consolations of religion as pre- 
scribed by the Wharfedale Particular Methodists. 
It was a cause of chronic sorrow to him that these 
should be uniformly rejected. 

Indeed, had he come across one who promised con- 
version, I believe the little sailor would there and 
then have presented him with a plenary pardon out 
of sheer respect to his faith. But the Moor in this 
thing is consistent. He renounces his creed for no 
persuasion, human or divine ; and the detail of being 


282 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


killed is always so near to him that it fails in con- 
vincingness as an argument. 

Captain Kettle’s men, then, divided head after head 
from their corresponding trunks, stuck these on posts 
beside the trails at about the height of a camel-rider’s 
face, and with their Moorish humor wrote beneath 
each — “The above has gone out of business.” 

The wit appealed to the wayfarers’ sense of fun, 
but with that curious Oriental inversion of ideas 
which the Northerner finds it so hard to follow, the 
act did not touch their gratitude. Indeed, from his 
very first interference in the valley of Sus, Captain 
Kettle made himself disliked. In England they 
have grown out of sympathy with the professional 
highwayman, but in Southern Morocco they recog- 
nize him as an institution. Periodically, of course, 
they shoot him themselves, or mutilate him, or avoid 
him as the chance arises; but there is no doubt that 
they take a melancholy pride in their local dangers. 
They are a conservative people. 

Finally, Kettle set the crown on his blunders by 
shooting out of hand a certain Hossein, whom he 
caught in the act and article of crucifying a compara- 
tive stranger. The said Hossein was an old-estab- 
lished nuisance of the roads, and Kettle had been 
after him for some time ; indeed, they had more than 
once been in close enough touch to exchange mes- 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


283 


sages of defiance ; and anyway his culminating atroc- 
ity, in which Kettle caught him red-handed, was 
quite ugly enough to warrant any punishment. 

Remained the objection that Hossein was both 
Hadj and Sidi. Of course to Kettle the mere fact 
that the man had done the Mecca pilgrimage was 
nothing in his favor, and the accident of his descent 
from an ancestor who once had been named saint by 
the Mohammedan creed, was a trifle worthy of no 
consideration at all. But to the country at large 
here was sacrilege. The man was shot accurately 
enough, but even Kettle’s own immediate following 
refrained from elevating his head on the usual pole ; 
indeed, buried the body undecapitated, after the due 
washing which ritual ordains ; and would have built 
a shrine above it if Kettle had not angrily interfered 
and struck camp forthwith. 

But other eyes were watching, and other hands 
did the building, and when he came by that way a 
month later, there was the shrine, dome-roofed and 
glittering under the sunshine in its new suit of white- 
wash. Inside was a tenant, half priest, half trader; 
a couple of criminals were already in sanctuary ; and 
a knot of business men from the neighborhood 
squatted round the walls, and boasted that they had 
made Sidi Hossein a geographical name, and the 
site of a weekly market. 


284 


A N EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


Captain Owen Kettle felt annoyed. There is very 
little use in executing a criminal if the very people 
you are trying to protect treasure his memory in 
this way, and raise a sainthouse above him, largely 
for the protection of other criminals. So for half 
an hour he let his bitter tongue have full play upon 
everybody within reach, and in that space of time 
stirred up some unnecessary enmity. 

As a consequence, those who called themselves 
honest men lent a good deal of practical sympathy 
to the thieves who were already banded together 
against him, and the Sus valley became for the 
little sailor a more dangerous place than even he 
imagined it. 

The method of his final undoing was simple and 
ingenious. A sham fight was got up between a 
band of the country farmers and one of the fortified 
robber castles, whose garrison, under the guidance 
of their chief, Ayoob Bushaib, was notorious for its 
raids on the merchandise trains. The men of agri- 
culture were by arrangement the victors, and down 
they came with much firing of guns and display of 
horsemanship to a dry wad where Kettle was en- 
camped in the shade. They hailed him as Protector 
of all Merchants; told him how his example had 
spurred them to a little effort of their own ; told fur- 
ther how their attempt had met with brilliant sue- 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


285 


cess ; and, finally, invited him to come and take over 
their prisoners, and execute them according to his 
own tastes. 

As though to give full color to their story, heads 
were produced, newly severed, though, of course, this 
to an Oriental would have gone for little. Any one 
who knows Southern Morocco can bear evidence 
that human life is horribly cheap, and that the Moor 
sticks at little to put the full ingredient of reality 
into his play. But Captain Kettle; in spite of his 
vast education, was still a Northerner, and the drip- 
ping heads convinced him. 

“You’ll understand clearly/’ said he, “that I don’t 
approve of you outsiders taking the law in your own 
hands, especially when I’m around. You’ll please 
notice also that I’ve undertaken to keep order in this 
section of Morocco, and any one who looks on can 
see I’m doing it. You ought to have come down 
here to my camp and laid your complaint, and then 
I’d have mopped up Ayoob Bushaib and his castle- 
load of rogues before they could think. However, 
as you have interfered, I’ll just ride up and see what 
sort of muddle you’ve made of it. No, you may take 
away those heads and bury them. I’ve no use for 
another man’s bag.” 

Presently then, at the head of his own men, with 
a flanking escort of jubilant farmers, Kettle rode 


286 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


out of the dry watercourse, and up through the argan 
forest above, skirting the green patches of barley, 
and making always for the high ground where the 
castle stood on a knoll. 

He held ‘along, entirely unsuspicious of the trap. 
He noted the frequent rootlings of pigs, and chided 
the farmers for not keeping them down ; he watched 
with delight the lizards and butterflies, and once 
picked up a slow-moving grotesque chameleon, and 
set it to ride on his bridle-rein; and when now and 
again clouds of gleaming blue pigeons swept over 
him with a flicker of jeweled breasts, a verse or two 
of poetry came to his mind and gratified him ex- 
ceedingly. 

Ayoob Bushaib’s castle, when they came to it, 
sprawled ungainly walls on the head of a steep 
knoll. It was built of amber-colored stone, and 
showed the usual specimen of patchwork piece- 
meal architecture. The outer gate, when they ar- 
rived up the last slope, lay open, and one of its valves, 
which was split with gunpowder, still smouldered 
on the ground. Within, the place was split up into 
the usual maze of courtyards and houses, tangled 
with camels, mules and cattle, creepy with the shrill 
cries of a ruffled harem. Here and there bodies lay 
— less the beforeseen heads. To a man whose recent 
months had been filled with the taking of similar 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 287 

strongholds, the evidences of a storm were plain 
enough. 

But as they went through the alleys and court- 
yards, their escort insensibly dwindled, shouldered 
aside, as it seemed, by Kettle’s own truculent fol- 
lowing; and when at last they poured out into the 
central courtyard of all, which was also littered with 
the red debris of recent fighting, all the farmers had 
left them. 

Then there was a quick snapping of shots, and 
promptly every open door around them was slammed 
by hidden janitors, and bars ground noisily into the 
stone sockets. From the loopholes of the walls, 
from the iron-latticed windows, from behind the 
parapets of the roofs above, of a sudden there 
bristled forth the brass-strapped barrels of long 
Moorish guns, which belched their uncouth missiles 
with deadly aim, and men were shot dead at such 
close range that their haiks and jelabs were set on 
fire by the discharges. 

Kettle went down, hit in the head by the first 
volley, and the rest was massacre. Again and again 
the guns of the castle’s garrison were reloaded and 
fired, till at last the frenzied survivors below piled 
bodies together, escaladed the roof, and so won a 
temporary escape. But a merciless hunt followed 
on the heels of these, and one by one they were cut 


288 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


down, or surrendered into slavery. Their animals 
also and camp furniture were captured. Of all the 
company the man Mazelle was the only soul who 
kept his life and freedom. 

Then came the hour of triumph, and Ayoob 
Bushaib was far too good a Moor to refrain from 
making the most of it. Many of his own friends 
had passed through Kettle’s hands, and had been 
associated with those grim Arabic notes which told 
that “the above had gone out of business.” Well, 
Ayoob Bushaib had spikes above his own gateways 
and corner towers, and these were quickly emptied of 
former occupants, and as quickly dressed with 
fresher trophies. 

“There is exactly one prophet,” said Ayoob Bush- 
aib, as he meditated over the grisly array, “and he 
looks carefully after us, who are his own! These men 
belonged to the Sheik Hadj Mohammed Bergash of 
Casadir, but their sending was none of his. The 
Sheik knows the ways of the road, and respects old 
customs. Their coming was due to the swine of 
Inglees, who are now his advisers. They are good 
men, these Inglees, but they are not perfect, 
and that is because they are of the N’zaranee 
faith. None can be perfect who does not ac- 
knowledge a single Allah and his one Prophet. 
But where is this Reis Keetle that fell to-day ? 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 289 

I do not see his red beard among these other 
ornaments.” 

He went carefully over the heads again, but could 
not find the one he looked for among them, and was 
just about to diagnose witchcraft and get un- 
easy, when word was brought to him that the man 
lived. 

“I was just about to strike his head off, Excel- 
lency,” said the messenger, “when the infidel opened 
his eyes and swore at me; and such was the power 
of his eye that I — I came to ask if your Excellenc)-' 
had any further orders concerning him.” 

“Is the man heavily wounded ?” 

“I am no hakim, but I should say not. A shot 
ploughed the side of his temple and stunned him, 
but he is a man of spare habit, and moreover a fight- 
ing man, and his flesh will know how to make for 
itself a quick cure.” 

“He shall be cured,” said Ayoob Bushaib, with 
a wave of the hand, “and presently he shall acknowl- 
edge that Allah is Allah, and that Mohammed is 
his prophet. After that he shall stay among us 
and tell here of the cleverness of the N’zaranees, 
which he learned when he was a dog of a N’zaranee 
himself. In the meanwhile, as he knows nothing 
of the joys of Paradise which will await him after 
conversion, leg-irons, wrist-irons and a chain to the 


290 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


waist will keep him from escaping, and keep him 
also at peace.” 

Now Ayoob Bushaib was a man of some intel- 
lect, and though he had taken every precaution lest 
any of Kettle’s following should escape, and, not 
knowing about Mazelle, thought he had done this 
effectively, still from old experience he knew how 
news will leak out. He took it for granted, then, 
that the tale of Kettle’s overthrow would in time 
drift to the Atlantic coast of Morocco, and reach 
Casadir, and a campaign of rescue and revenge 
would promptly follow. He knew that his own 
isolated fortress could never hold out against the 
strong attack of a big force, and so he preferred to 
insure its safety by sending the prisoner to a town 
in the next valley, which was better prepared, both 
in population and defences, for a heavy attack. 

It was to this town, then, that Mazelle had fol- 
lowed his late leader, and had taken over the business 
of the water-carrier, and though he had seen and re- 
ported on the weight of poor Kettle’s fetters, the 
squalor of the common prison, and the straits to 
which he was put to avoid actual starvation, he 
had not even guessed at the greatest of all the little 
man’s dangers and discomforts. 

Ayoob Bushaib, when not acting the robber baron 
in his hilltop castle elsewhere, was a considerable 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


291 


man in this town away in tlie depths of Southern 
Morocco, a farmer of lands on its outskirts, an owner 
of camels, the lord of Warehouses, and a dweller in 
a great substantial house, with inclosed gardens and 
a spacious harem. He was a man of the world — his 
own small world, that is — and a man, moreover, who 
understood men — that is, men of the type he lived 
among. Also, like all Moors, he had a high ap- 
preciation of the horrors of the Moorish prison 
system. 

He had taken Kettle’s measure with some accur- 
acy. As the prisoner dragged his chains along be- 
side the camels, Ayoob Bushaib had noted his strong, 
masterful face, and decided that here was no con- 
vert to take up the comforts of the Koran on a first 
invitation. So he made up his mind to mortify his 
captive’s flesh pretty thoroughly before beginning 
upon him. 

Into the common prison then the little sailor was 
thrown. There were as many innocent men there 
as rogues, but yaws, fever, dysentery, beri-beri, and 
the other diseases of the country smote among them 
all with an impartial hand. From one filthy tank 
all could drink — or thirst. There was no prison 
ration. All were gaunt with starvation, and each 
day saw a death. Only the ingenuity of despair 
made the poor wretches produce the humble handi- 


292 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


work, which now and again they were able to peddle 
at the prison wicket for squalid bowls of broken food. 

For four horrible baking months Ayoob let these 
discomforts sink in, watching his man narrowly the 
while, and at the end of that he fetched him out, and 
left him chained for half a day to a pillar in one of 
the garden courtyards of his house. Then he came 
and interviewed him. 

‘Thus we deal with dogs,” said Ayoob Bushaib, 
“N’zaranee dogs.” 

“Then more shame to you for not knowing how to 
treat animals properly,” said Kettle. 

“I see that I have brought you out of prison too 
soon. You are not ready for a comfortable life 
again yet. I must send you back again for another 
four months till your brain ripens into intelligence.” 

Now I think it is nothing to poor Kettle’s discredit 
that he quailed almost visibly at this. The horrors 
of that ghastly prison had nearly killed him as it 
was; another four months of them would be unen- 
durable ; and, besides, there was a very small chance 
of his surviving such’ a spell. So with an effort he 
got his bitter tongue under control, and spoke to the 
Moor civilly. 1 

“If you have any offer to make, sir, please let me 
hear it. I’m not very well just now, so you must 
kindly excuse my temper !” 


AH EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


293 


“If you are reasonable, Reis Keetle, and do as I 
wish, presently you shall have a house of your own, 
and slaves, and, if you wish, wives; and, in fact, 
every comfort, and be nursed into health again.” 

The little man bit back his temper with an effort. 

“If marrying a lot of Moorish women is part of 
the contract, you can stop right there. Fve got one 
wife at home on the farm in Wharfedale, and she’s 
all I shall ever want, God bless her. So I’ll trouble 
you not to make any more of your nasty bigamous 
propositions to me.” 

Ayoob Bushaib shrugged his shoulders. “That 
is not essential, and if it please you we will drop that 
point. I did but offer you what most men want. 
But, as I say, once you are free, you may suit your- 
self entirely on that matter.” 

“You’d better get to the point, sir, and let me 
know your conditions. You’ve got me in a tight 
place, I know, and are able to ask big terms. I sup- 
pose you’re wanting an order on my firm in Casadir 
for cash. Well, within reason I will pay. But, 
mind you, don’t ask too much. I’ve made a bit of 
money lately, I’ll grant. But I’ve the missis and 
the girls to think of, and sooner than bring them 
down to beggary again, where they’ve been so often 
before, I’ll just refuse to pay you a single peseta, and 
let you do your ugliest.” 


294 


AN EXCHANGE OE LEGS. 


“Tut, tut, you’re taking me quite wrongly. I’m 
not asking you to ruin yourself. I’m not asking for 
a ransom at all. Indeed, I’m offering you a boon, 
if you will accept it with your freedom conjointly.” 

“You make me tired. Get your offer out and let 
me be off back to jail.” 

Ayoob Bushaib smiled blandly. “You refuse to 
believe in my good faith, but I assure you it is quite 
genuine. Throw off your cursed N’zaranee super- 
stition, turn Mussulman, and once you have been to 
the mosque and said the appointed prayers, you shall 
be free, rich, prosperous, and can look forward with 
steady assurance to one of those high seats in Para- 
dise hereafter which are specially set apart for those 
who see the pitfalls in their old ways.” 

“What, you deliberately ask me — me — to turn 
Mohammedan ?” 

“And I think that, being a sensible man, and hav- 
ing tasted prison, you will do it.” 

“I’ll see you in hell if I do,” snapped the little man 
fiercely. “And that’s not swearing. It’s a solid 
theological fact. Send for your niggers to cast off 
this chain, and let me get back to jail. The stink 
there is pretty bad, but I prefer it to here. Your 
breath’s just poisonous.” 

“I give commands here,” said Ayoob Bushaib 
placidly, and clapped his hands. “You must not 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


295 


suppose that the choice of everything will rest with 
you. Indeed, the matter may turn out quite unex- 
pectedly for you.” Servants came, and he gave 
several orders. Presently they returned. One 
filled and handed to his master a pipe of keef, which 
another lit. Others brought an ax, a block, and a 
dish of glowing charcoal, with searing irons in it. 
Others unchained Captain Kettle from the pillar, 
stretched him on the floor — three to each limb — so 
that there was no possibility of struggling. 

Then one slipped the block below his right leg, 
and another stood by with ax upraised. 

Ayoob Bushaib took up the smoke from the keef 
in two pleasurable whiffs, and for awhile seemed to 
detach himself from the day’s affairs. Then he 
came back to them again, and addressed Kettle in his 
usual placid tones. 

“In Paradise the houris look askance at a man 
whose limbs are mutilated. Now I am going to 
convert you, Reis Keetle, to the true faith, and I 
am a man of much patience. If you refuse me now, 
presently I shall lop off a limb. Then I will give 
you a while to consider while the stump heals. Then 
will come another offer, and, if there is another re- 
fusal, off will go another limb. And so on. You 
take me?” 

“Yes, I do, you son of a dog, and you may cut 


296 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


me up into bits an inch square before I’ll so much 
as think of taking over your blighted religion. Do 
you know who you’re talking to? Do you know 
I’m the man that founded the Wharfedale Particular 
Methodists? Do you think that after going to the 
trouble and expense of making up a creed for them, 
and being, so to speak, their head organizer when at 
home, I should change my membership with them 
for any other bally religion under the sun? No, 
sir, I’m in Morocco for business, and lately you may 
say I’ve been doing police work, and the affairs of 
the W. P. M. have been in abeyance. But I’m a 
member of that sect all the time, and its principal 
missionary, and don’t you forget it.” 

Ayoob Bushaib signed for another pipe of keef, 
and took its two whiffs slowly. “Is that your last 
word?” he asked. 

“It is, unless you’ll let me offer you a prospectus 
of a religion that will take you up to heaven when 
your time comes without any mistake or error. 
W. P. M. is a sure guarantee. May I tell you 
about it?” 

Ayoob Bushaib gave a sign, and the ax fell, cut- 
ting through bone and flesh with one sharp crunch. 
Then the man at the brazero took out his searing 
irons and dressed the stump. 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


897 

A weak and shattered Kettle was being slowly 
nursed to health by a specially appointed slave. He 
was still in the prison, but not now in the common 
courtyard. He was given a small room of his own, 
with a space of roof to take the air upon. This was 
the arrangement of Ayoob Bushaib, who was a per- 
severing man. He wanted Kettle as an assistant 
and co-religionist, and thought that with patience 
he saw his way to attaining these matters, if he 
could keep the patient alive while the process of 
persuasion continued. 

But Kettle, though weak in body, was still very 
active in mind. His leg was lost beyond recovery. 
But life remained, and other limbs were also his, and 
he did not intend to be deprived of any of these if 
it could be avoided. So before the attendant slave 
he let the lethargy of illness be plainly shown, and 
his thin, drawn face was a very effective mask for 
the active brain which lay behind. 

Up till now he had despised his fellow prisoners, 
and failed to see how they could be of use to him. 
But now a scheme came to him, and he dragged him- 
self among them and to one after another told his 
plot. They, poor wretches, were as desperate as 
he, but they were uninventive. Any leader always 
appealed to such as they if only he offered revenge, 
and this one promised more besides. They were a 


298 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


large force; presently they would gather malcon- 
tents from the town and be larger; and then when 
the town was theirs they would loot it, oh, so en- 
joyably. They licked their lips at the prospect. 

Thanks to the laxity of Moorish prison arrange- 
ments, arms could be bought at the wicket as readily 
as food, provided one had the wherewithal to pay, 
and so some weapons came in this way, and others 
were manufactured. 

But the programme, whatever it might be, was 
suddenly put on one side by another. Ayoob Bush- 
aib came to the prison to see for himself how matters 
went with his would-be proselyte. 

He had with him an armed guard, certainly, of 
two men, but these, anticipating no danger from the 
cowed wretches in the prison, walked carelessly. 
As a consequence, when the wicket was shut, and 
the word given, they were disarmed and stunned 
with the same ease with which Ayoob himself was 
gagged and bound. 

It grieves me a great deal to break the continuity 
of the story at this point, but, on what followed next, 
Kettle himself flatly refused to give me details ; and 
Mazelle, my other informant, could not. Certainly 
there was some talk between Kettle and Ayoob 
of religion, “a N’zaranee religion” — and I some- 
how guess this to be “W. P. M.” — and the rest of 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 299 

the rebellious prisoners demurred. But Kettle rode 
over their objections with a high hand. 

I fancy also that Ayoob Bushaib was given the 
alternatives of Vert or lop. But of this I can get 
absolutely no confirmation. The only thing that 
leads me to imagine that affairs so befel, was the un- 
doubted fact that Ayoob’s right leg came off in the 
prison on that particular date. I should very much 
like to have been certain on this point, but Kettle 
was not to be drawn. To tell the truth, he snapped 
at me. 

Anyway, there was Ayoob a captive and disabled, 
and the prisoners suddenly converted into a body 
of very desperate men, holding an immensely strong 
fortress right in the middle of the town. And to 
make matters worse, there were strong rumors that 
another, and far more dangerous, enemy, was march- 
ing against the town from the outside. 

The prisoners as a first demand asked for food, 
and, as they held out the alternative of setting fire 
to the prison and incidentally to the town, they got 
it. Then they declared their rebellion as Heaven- 
guided, asked for recruits, and got these also. And 
after this they would have been quite content to sit 
quiet, and experience the unwonted pleasure of hav- 
ing a full meal. But here that energetic person, 
Kettle, asserted himself more pointedly, and sent 


300 


AN EXCHANGE OE LEGS. 


out a demand for tribute in cash or negotiable goods. 
Here the townspeople drew the line (as might 
have been expected) ; a siege was started ; and with 
mad hate to spur either side, there were ugly casual- 
ties. But by degrees, as those who held the prison 
were not taken, public opinion, an easy thing to 
sway in these Oriental towns, swerved round to their 
side. Men flocked to them, turning their backs on 
the legitimate Governor, coming over to Kettle 
merely because they discerned in him the rising 
power. And all this time, the rumors of an in- 
vader appearing before the gates became more 
strong. 

At last the desperate street fighting came to a sud- 
den end. A truce was called. The other side were 
open to negotiations. A common enemy had ap- 
proached from outside, and the only hope of salva- 
tion was to amalgamate. And the opposite party 
offered entire command to this successful rebel, this 
conquering prisoner, el Reis Keetle. 

He took over the command with the truculent re- 
mark that he would have helped himself to it if it 
had not been offered, and then proceeded to tell that 
the army which even then was sitting down before 
the walls and commencing siege operations, was 
sent by his own friends. He pointed out the Ex- 
cellency-with-the-great-nose, Fenner of the cough* 


AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 


301 


he showed them McTodd, the famous fighting man, 
and Mazelle, who had slipped through their fingers 
and carried the news to Casadir; and then he told 
them that there should be no sack of the place, and 
that all should be forgiven on their promise to amend 
their ways and stick strictly to business. 

After that he went to have another private inter- 
view with Ayoob Bushaib. 

“Now, my man,” said he, “you've had the creed 
of the Wharfedale Particular Methodists explained 
to you, chapter and verse, sufficient times. Has my 
preaching gone home to you, or do you wish to shed 
another leg?” 

“One question,” said the placid Ayoob. “Do you 
expect to go to your heaven yourself?” 

“Such is my trust.” 

“As you stand?” 

Kettle flushed. “On one leg do you mean, you 
skunk?” 

“Yes.” 

“Certainly I do.” 

“Then one leg makes no difference in your 
heaven ?” 

“Not an inch.” 

“Then I will come, too. In the Moslem Paradise 
a man with one leg is not sought after by the houris. 
I am your convert.” 


302 AN EXCHANGE OF LEGS. 

“Well,” said Kettle judicially, “you’re not a very 
promising specimen, but you are the only one I have 
gathered in all Morocco, so far, and so I must make 
the best of you. I’ll attend to the rest of your spirit- 
ual needs later on. For the present I must go out- 
side the walls and talk to my friends.” He sighed 
rather sadly. “It will be pretty bad to have to tell 
them that I shall never kick any one with my right 
leg again.” 


CHAPTER XI. 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 

There are no makers of artificial limbs in South- 
ern Morocco, though if one were to set up, he would 
drive a flourishing trade. But Mr. N. A. McTodd 
was a man of quick resource. Within an hour of 
seeing Captain Kettle ride in maimed on his camel, 
and hobble into his Casadir house with the help of 
a crutch, he had measured his patient, and had 
drawn a plan of projected improvements in charcoal 
on a white-washed wall. Within a day he had 
rigged a lathe, and turned a wooden leg out of a 
piece of ash, smart enough (as he said himself) for 
royalty. 

It was colored white for the sake of cool appear- 
ance, and was shod with a heavy cast-brass toe, 
expressly guaranteed to resist wear. “For Saturday 
nights and Sundays,” said McTodd, “I’m going to 
turn ye a leg of mahogany, which I’ll get a gun- 
maker in the bazaar to inlay with ivory and mother- 
o’-pearl. But that’ll no’ be a piece of furniture to 
knock about carelessly. So I’ll trouble ye to learn 
your steps on this less meretricious instrument 

303 


304 


LIMITED FEEE TRADE. 


which Eve designed for everyday wear. What’s it 
you’ve done to Fenner? The boy’s lost half his 
flush and all his cough, and his nose has grown 
bigger than ever. He gives his orders right and left 
like an admiral, and the humorous thing is I find 
myself taking them with never a question; and ye’ll 
note when ye watch, that so do others.” 

Captain Kettle chose and lit a fresh cigar. “That 
boy’s grown, Mac, in a way that makes me proud. 
He’s no strength, he’s the poorest kind of shot, he’s 
no command of language as either you or I under- 
stand it ; but there’s something about him that makes 
men prick their ears when he talks, and then go right 
off and do what’s been said. It’s a funny thing, too, 
to see how fond he is of kids. If he can get two or 
three youngsters round him to play with, and laugh 
with, and give presents to, he’s as happy as a girl 
with a new hat. But the rum thing is,” the little 
man added thoughtfully, “that directly he’s gone 
from them, he seems to turn savage against his luck, 
and just tears into his work as though that kept him 
from thinking of other things.” 

“I’ve noticed,” said McTodd, scratching his nose 
with a black finger nail, “I’ve noticed, Skipper, that 
there are men whose great idea in life is marriage 
and a family. I’ve had few ambeetions in that di- 
rection mysel’. There have been one or two ladies 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 


305 


that kept apartments, who, I’ll own, have attracted 
me; but not for long. Besides, between ourselves 
(and there's few that will have guessed it), I've al- 
ways had the whiskey to contend with." 

“It's a great pity," said Kettle thoughtfully, “that 
there are so many drunkards and teetotalers in the 
world. Intemperate men like those are the curse of 

whiskey Hullo, here’s the boy. Boy, you 

shouldn’t go about at that pace with your sore lung." 

Fenner swung into the room panting, tipped him- 
self on to a divan, and mopped his bony forehead and 
his hectic cheeks. “Confound you, Skipper, let my 
ailment alone! I’m not dead yet by a long chalk, 
and I honestly believe my chest is mending. I’ve 
only had one go of coughing the whole of this morn- 
ing in spite of the sand storm that’s blowing." 

“That," said Kettle, “is the result of that Chest 
Reviver patent medicine which I recommended, and 
which you were so scornful about. I think you 
ought to write to the inventor, and very likely he 
may publish your letter on his next wrappers." 

“Well, well, the result’s the thing, and the pro- 
cess doesn’t matter. As for the letter, I’ll get you 
to do that, and turn it into poetry if you like. Com- 
position’s not my strong point. But I just must have 
health and strength now. There’s trouble on ahead 
with the Kaid,” 


306 


LIMITED FEEE TKADE. 


“Kaid Who?” said Kettle bristling. “I left 
Sheik Hadj Mohammed Bergash in command here 
in Casadir, and if he’s made any one Raid and put 
that man above himself, it’s been done without my 
permission.” 

“Hadj Mohammed has made himself Kaid. He 
made the announcement a week ago, and had a pow- 
der play and a big sheep killing to honor it. He’s 
a fine horseman, is our Mr. Bergash, and a bit of 
theatrical powder play is just the thing to show off 
his points. It seems a rumor soaked down to the 
coast here about ten days ago that there had been 
another scuffle up-country, and that neither you nor 
I would ever turn up again. I can imagine he bore 
the prospective loss with equanimity. He’s a shifty 
devil, our Mr. Bergash. While we’ve been away, 
there’s been one French steamer in and two German, 
and he’s been flirting with all three.” 

Captain Kettle started up on the divan, and held 
out a hand. “Here, Mac, help me to ship this 
wooden leg. I’ve got business at the Sheik’s house. 
I guess I’ll bring that man down to main deck level 
before he’s an hour older. A Kaid is he, by James? 
Here’s promotion.” 

“Hold on,” said Fenner. “Let’s hear exactly what 
you’re going to do first. Our dear friend Bergash 
is not quite a fool. He’s guessed there might 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 307 

be ructions this morning, and he's ready for 
them.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“He's doubled his own private guard since last 
night. My man told me his house is just bristling 
with soldiers, and they aren’t armed with seven- 
foot gas pipes, either. The excellent Bergash has 
had a taste for collecting Winchesters lately, and I 
guess he's quite enough to go around, and won’t be 
afraid to use them. No need to put your head into 
another wasp’s nest.” 

The little sailor flushed. “Mr. Fenner,” he said 
stiffly, “I don’t see there was any occasion to bring 
that up against me. I got caught by Ayoob Bushaib, 
I know, and it cost me a leg. I’m a bally tripod 
now, if you like to put it that way. But I’ve got 
through most kinds of tight places in the past, and 
I don’t know I’m any more nervous than I used to 
be. So I’ll trouble you to shut your mouth about 
my bit of misfortune.” 

“Now look here, Skipper, drop it. I’m not going 
to quarrel with you on any terms whatever. I ad- 
mire you far too much. If you’d like an apology, 
you can have one. But I do want badly to know 
what you intend to do.” 

“Shove Hadj Mohammed off his perch, and take 
his place.” 


308 


LIMITED FEEE TRADE. 


“That is, Casadir is going to be governed by Kaid 
Kettle.’’ 

“Well,” said the little man stiffly, “and please why 
not? Hadj Mohammed’s not straight, and I am; 
I speak the language quite well enough; and when 
it comes to handling men, why, there I back myself 
against any one at present in Africa.” 

“Man Kettle,” said McTodd warmly, “I think 
ye’d make a fine Kaid. Ye’re sound on the whiskey 
question, and ye’ve other points as well. If you care 
to sign on this afternoon, I’ll be there to hold the 
inkbottle, and see no one interferes.” 

“Ye-es,” coughed Fenner, ‘it’s all very nice, and 
I’ve no doubt, Skipper, that if you make up your 
mind to a coup d’etat, you’d bring one off. I can 
promise that in the event of trying it you should 
have my help. But it isn’t only a case of grabbing 
Casadir and holding it in the teeth of a pack of 
fighting Moors. Once you set up as Kaid of Casa- 
dir, and that means King of the Sus country as 
well, you’ll have Europe down about our ears with- 
out any delay. Now you can’t fight Europe.” 

“I’ve had most of Europe against me before,” 
said the sailor truculently, “and I took my steam- 
boat where she was ordered in spite of the lot of 
them.” 

“Quite so. But with' a steamer you can dodge 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 


309 


about. Unfortunately Casadir is at moorings, and 
any one knows where to find it when it’s wanted.” 

McTodd rubbed a pair of large, discolored hands. 
“Let ’em come. To quote a vairse o’ the Skipper’s 
poetry, ‘Let ’em all come.’ For what have we got 
two steamers of war, and a four-point-seven gun 
fixed here in position, not to mention other articles 
of offence? I want to see those earning their 
living.” 

Fenner mopped at his face with a wet pocket hand- 
kerchief. “Dash it all, let’s be practical ! The two 
steamers of war are merely old tramps that no Brit- 
ish surveyor would pass ; the four-point-seven has all 
its rifling rusted away, and from the look of the 
breech-block, I don’t believe it’s safe to fire at all; 
and the other guns are equally footling. The outfit 
was intended to scare off the Sultan of Morocco, and 
it served that purpose well enough. But don’t let’s 
humbug ourselves that we could stand for ten min- 
utes against a civilized power. One fourth-rate 
gunboat could settle our hash here in less than 
twenty-five minutes, and we couldn’t so much as 
splinter her paint.” 

“I hate to give in,” said Kettle reluctantly. “But 
you’re right. I suppose you’ve got one of your usual 
schemes to offer us now ?” 

“I have and I haven’t. I can give you the theory 


310 


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of a practical scheme, but as usual you’ll have to be 
the man to carry it out. Here’s the case : you and I 
and Mac came to Casadir at a tight time, and helped 
its boss to make himself independent of the Sultan 
of Morocco. As a reward for that we got from him 
a concession in writing that all the export trade was 
to pass through our hands.” 

“I told you at the time, boy, it wasn’t worth the 
paper it was written on.” 

“It was only intended to wave in the faces of the 
Great Powers when international complications be- 
gin to arise. That’s the only thing you see that 
gives us locus standi. But Hadj Mohammed Ber- 
gash doesn’t see as far as that, and, as regards the 
value, presently we’re going to prove to him where 
his mistake comes in. But he’s not acted quickly 
enough. In the meantime we’ve got the trade and 
all the trade connections fast enough in our own 
hands, we haven’t been skinning any one unduly, and 
all the solid men in the country are on our side. 
We’ve brought ’em prosperity. I don’t say they are 
grateful. A Moor is too good a Mohammedan to 
be ever grateful to an Englishman ” 

“Man, I’d like to tell ye in confidence I’m no’ 
exactly English. D’ye see, Ballindrochater, where I 
come from, is ” 

“Say Britisher, if it pleases you, Mac, and that 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 


311 


takes in all three of us. Anyway, we’ve as much 
liking from these people as any men of our breed 
could get, and that’s a very comfortable asset. Now, 
what we’ve got to do is to make Hadj Mohammed 
see this, and rub into him the great truth that if we 
give the word he’s to be pulled off his perch, pulled 
he’ll be. At the same time we must studiously avoid 
an open outbreak. Kaid he’s made himself, and 
Kaid — in name — he may continue to be. So far as 
I am concerned he may call himself Prince, or Sul- 
tan, or Emperor, if a title tickles him. But he’s 
got to clearly understand that the real man at the 
head of affairs is King Owen the First.” 

“1 see,” said Kettle. “And he must hand over 
to these German and French agents, who have 
landed here, sharp orders to move on again, and we 
won’t appear in the matter.” 

“No, no, man. That would give them a cause of 
action against us at once, and it’s probably the very 
thing their Governments were trying for.” 

“What, do you mean to say they were sent 
here as a sort of bait, and not for business 
at all?” 

“It’s quite likely. But in the meanwhile we’re not 
going to march into that sort of trap. We deport 
no Europeans, and furthermore we do not allow 
Hadj Mohammed to deport them. On the contrary, 


312 LIMITED FREE TRADE. 

we’ve opened the port, and we welcome French, 
Germans, Italians, Austrians, yes, even Belgians. 
But — we must see to it they do no trade. The ex- 
port trade, as vide concession, is ours and indivisible. 
On that point, I guess, we’re all quite sound, eh, 
Mac?” 

“It’s awful how the taste for money grows on 
men, even Scotchmen. I’m quite the financier now 
in London” — the engineer preened himself — “I’ve 
a fur coat. I’ve a tall hat rubbed round with an 
oily rag, and spit-leather boots. It’s a very humor- 
ous costume if you come to think of it. There w r as 
one Jew wanted me to ship a diamond ring. But I 
can no’ see that outlay is needful, even for a finan- 
cier. Eh, Fenner, if you could see me sitting in a 
first-class hotel, drinking whiskey at ninepence the 
glass, that I could get equally good for threepence 
elsewhere, ye’d never fling it in my teeth again that 
I’m no’ adaptable. But, man, if you only knew how 
I sigh sometimes for pajamas, and just the feel of a 
fistful of cotton waste, ye’d pity me. By gosh, 
what’s yon?” 

From below came the sudden bang of shots, and 
the high scream of a hurt man, and in an instant the 
house buzzed with the noise of shouts and threats, 
and the rustle of weapons. Captain Kettle had 
pulled out a revolver with the quickness of a con- 


Limited free trade. sis 

juror, and McTodd produced a heavy three-quarter 
inch spanner from his jacket pocket. 

“That,” said Fenner, “is Hadj Mohammed pay- 
ing a call on us before we can call on him. He’s a 
sharp man, our Kaid Bergash.” 

“I’ll twist the tail of that treacherous swine in a 
way he won’t like,” snapped Kettle. “Put down 
that rifle, boy. You couldn’t hit a haystack with 
it. Take that shotgun and plenty of cartridges. 
You take a shotgun, too, Mac. Now come out, the 
pair of you. All we’ve got to do is to murder the 
lot of them down in the courtyard. They can’t get 
up. Our own men ‘are holding the stair.” 

Bang! Bang! Crash! came the shots, and a bul- 
let flicked into the room where they sat and shelled 
down a great flake of plaster. 

“Hold on,” said Fenner. “I don’t see why we 
should play the Raid’s game. Why not try one of 
our own?” 

“There’s a fight going on just outside this door,” 
said McTodd, “and that’s good enough game for 
me.” 

“What’s the alternative?” asked Kettle. 

“Try the offensive, and leave the defensive to the 
other people. It’s not new strategy. All the text 
books have it. And I think it’s sound.” 

(i Bang! bang! bang! went the shots. The court- 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 


314 

yard and its galleries were a pandemonium of noise. 
The thin acrid reek of black smoke drifted into the 
room where they stood. 

“Now, quick,” said Kettle, “and let's hear what’s 
up your sleeve, boy. I wouldn’t have waited as long 
as this outside a scrap for any other man living.” 

“Let’s leave this house to our own fellows. They 
may hold it or they may not. Anyway, Hadj Mo- 
hammed’s men are engaged here, and he isn’t ex- 
pecting us. It strikes me that if we pay him a 
call at his own residence just now, we may find him 
alone and disengaged.” 

“But how ?” 

“Over the roofs. It’s a solid block of houses be- 
tween this and the Raid’s. The only thing I hesi- 
tate about is, can you climb, Skipper, now that you 
are crippled ?” 

“I could climb,” retorted Captain Kettle unpleas- 
antly, “a dashed sight better with both legs off than 
you ever could with all you’ve got, and a tail thrown 
in. Come on.” 

A staircase led upward out of the next room, and 
they were very quickly up on the roof. Before them 
were spread out the roofs of the city, a place of rec- 
tangular walled-in allotments, sliced up into strips 
by the deep dykes of the streets. The acrid reek 
of the powder followed them, and overhead, in the 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 


315 


hot cobalt of the sky, carrion birds collected; but 
the noise of the fight had already become more 
dim. 

The path was not an easy one. The Moslem 
takes the evening air on the roof with his women- 
kind, and sees to it that he is neither overlooked nor 
raided. He has a fine taste in white precipitous 
walls, and imports glass bottles to decorate their 
crests; and occasionally his ideas run to iron che - 
vaux de frise of many points. But the travelers 
picked up a pole to help them in the worst escalades, 
and found a rope which eased the more lengthy of 
the descents. 

McTodd led. Fenner came second, panting and 
sweating. Kettle brought up the rear. The other 
two would have helped the little sailor if he would 
have let them, but at each offer of assistance his 
vinegary tongue lashed out with such acidity that 
they not only let him alone, but pressed along at their 
quickest pace by way of showing to him if possible 
the extent of their own abilities. 

In this way, then, Fenner and the engineer were 
two roofs ahead when an accident happened. On 
the brink of a spike-fringed wall Captain Kettle 
slipped; an iron prong ripped into his raiment and 
dived through the leather waist-belt that held the 
thigh-piece of his wooden leg, and there he dangled 


316 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 


like some absurd jumping-jack, using language that 
emulated the sky, both in warmth and color. 

Promptly emerged from the roof-door a furious 
householder, raging with the idea that here was 
some Lothario in the act and article of coming to 
pay surreptitious court to his women-kind. The 
man lifted up his angry voice, and in those poetically 
coarse phrases to which Arabic so readily adapts it- 
self, gave his opinion of Kettle’s ancestry, his moral 
character, his lack of physical powers, and his prob- 
able future fate. 

“Your wives be sugared, you trigamous son of a 
dog,” Kettle shouted at him. “I wouldn’t touch one 
of them with a ten-foot pole. You just wait till I 
get down, and I’ll alter your face till your women 
will think it’s a foot. Do you know who I am, you 
spawn of a sand storm? By James, I’m a man that 
has respect from every soul here in Casadir, and it 
doesn’t do for them to forget, it.” This, also, was 
in classical Arabic, and of necessity loses much of its 
fragrant beauty in translation. 

The Moor on the subject of his women is a man 
of the touchiest humor, and this householder was no 
exception to the rule. He pulled the curved dagger 
from the sheath which hung from his neck, and made 
a rush. 

At that precise moment Kettle had contrived to 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 


317 


squirm round and reach the buckle of his belt, and 
pull it adrift. The iron spike on the wall of course 
held stubbornly, but his thin, white, tropical clothes 
tore like so much paper. Worst misfortune of all, 
the white drill jacket pocket which held his revolver 
ripped completely out, and remained aloft on the 
spike, as securely out of immediate reach as though 
it had lodged in the moon. 

Captain Kettle did not waste the impetus of his 
fall. He pushed himself out from the wall as the 
Moor rushed, and landed with his knees on that 
worthy man’s shoulders. They both toppled to the 
floor together, the white wooden leg trundling after 
them, and it was this uncouth weapon that the little 
sailor seized. McTodd had turned it heavy and 
solid; an everyday leg, as he said; and the lower 
end was shod with a massive cap of brass. 

The Moor’s turban had come off in the tumble, 
and they rolled apart after the impact. But Kettle 
was up on his solitary foot as soon as the Moor had 
scrambled to his two ; the wooden leg whirled aloft, 
and came down whack on the shaven skull ; the man 
went over as if he had been poleaxed. 

“I’ll have you,” said Kettle, “if you aren’t too 
stunned, to understand that I’m a respectable man, 
and don’t get over the garden wall to see any ladies 
whatever. You may thank your stars that Mrs. 


318 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 


Kettle is not likely to hear your remarks, or it’s some- 
thing worse than a broken comb I’d have given you 
for your impertinence.” 

He strapped the wooden leg once more in place, 
and as by this time Fenner and McTodd had come 
back to the rescue, he allowed them to dislodge the 
hung-up revolver with their pole. 

“I thank you, Mac,” he said humbly, “but it’s a 
fact, I do feel naked without that gun. I wish I 
could raise a new coat. I hate going about in untidy 
rags like this.” 

“We’ll charge all repairs to the Kaid,” said Fen- 
ner. “The great thing is not to cause needless de- 
lay in handing him the bill.” 

“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed the engineer. “Delay! 
Very humorous.” 

“By James,” snapped Kettle, “don’t you dare to 
he-haw at me, you dissolute mechanic. I’ll thank 
you both to get on with the business in hand, and 
waste no more time with your cackle. We’re only 
two roofs off Hadj Mohammed’s house now.” 

Once more the straining run and climb recom- 
menced, and the sun glared upon them, and their 
tiny dark blue shadows danced in the heat. 

Behind them the noise of the fight had died away ; 
ahead of them the Kaid’s house seemed wrapped in 
dignified siesta. 


LIMITED FLEE TIIADE. 


319 


Presently they came to it, and achieved the hard- 
est of their climbs. Hadj Mohammed Bergash was 
rich, and he was cautious. The outer wall of his 
palace was high, so that his women-kind could over- 
look and not be overlooked. The pole would not 
reach. But the brawny Scot lifted it, and placed 
the heel on his head, and Kettle climbed to his 
shoulders, then up the pole, and so the crest of the 
wall, with the end of the rope over his arm. McTodd 
climbed up the rope. Fenner, who could not climb, 
was hauled up by the other two, and had his great 
beak of a nose badly scraped in the process. A min- 
ute later they had ushered themselves into the pres- 
ence of the Kaid. 

Now, in South Morocco, a man lives in the midst 
of alarms, and in this respect the highest of the 
land are more harassed than those of more lowly 
station. A man carries his weapons all day long 
and every day, eats with them, sleeps with them, and 
has them quite handy even when he is in the bath. 
As a consequence, Hadj Mohammed Bergash was 
quick enough on the draw to even excite the admira- 
tion of such a connoisseur in the matter as Captain 
Owen Kettle. 

But the winning points in the exercise are adjudi- 
cated in decimals of a second, and Hadj Mohammed 
was expert enough to know when he was beaten. 


320 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 


He dropped his half-raised weapon, and stared 
placidly down the barrel of Captain Kettle’s revolver. 

“Allah is great,” he remarked, “and He has but 
one prophet. I will hear what you have to say.” 

“Boy,” said Kettle, “just take away his gun and 
cutlery.” 

Fenner did so. 

“You might go through him again and see if he 
has any more.” 

Fenner did this, and produced another revolver 
and a curious knife. 

“That,” said Kettle, “is a Touareg back-thrust 
dagger, a very interesting piece. That’s for jabbing 
a man who comes at you behind, and it’s used by 
agriculturists in the slave-raiding districts. Hand it 
across. We haven’t got one in our collection at 
home. I’ll send that to Wharfedale to the Missis. 
I know she’ll be pleased with it.” 

“Will you take green tea with mint in it,” asked 
the Kaid, “or cooled sherbet?” 

“I wonder,” said Kettle acidly, “you don’t offer 
us cooled cheek. That seems the brand you’ve most 
got on tap at present. It’s Kaid they tell me. that 
you call yourself now. I wonder you didn’t make 
it Sultan while you were on at the job.” 

“I did think of it.” 

“The pit you did! By James, there’s education 


LIMITED FREE TEADE. 


321 


wanted here. Gratitude one did not look for, but I 
thought you’d know a better man than yourself when 
you saw one. You gave your word once that I 
was to be practical boss here. ,, 

“I gave you deference as such while you were 
here. But you departed from Casadir, and news 
came from the Sus country that you would not re- 
turn. I cannot see,” added Hadj Mohammed with 
a bland glance toward Kettle’s wooden leg, “that 
you have altogether returned even yet.” 

The sailor started as if he had been stung, and his 
red torpedo beard bristled. “Now, understand 
clearly,” he snapped, “that you’ve got on a subject 
about which I take sauce from no man living. If 
you dare to mention my leg again, I’ll have off your 
turban, and smack you on the bald head, and then 
I’ll clean the pipeclay off my shoes on to your whis- 
kers. By James, if you’ve any doubt as to who’s 
the read Kaid of Casadir, I’ll set to work and teach 
you in a way you won’t forget. I want respect from 
every Moor in this town, and don’t you run away 
and fancy yourself a giddy exception.” 

Hadj Mohammed lowered his head to the carpet. 
“Reis Keetle, I bow to your wisdom.” 

“You couldn’t do a wiser thing. Now I’d like 
to know what you meant by sending your scum of 
troops to raid our house?” 


322 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 


“It was unauthorized. It was a mistake, for 
which presently I will send you the heads of any of- 
fenders who survive for you to set above your gate.” 

“I’m not going to have them punished for merely 
carrying out your orders. No, Hadj Mohammed, 
you’ll have to foot the bill yourself. Savvy that?” 

“Allah is very great, and He only is merciful.” 

“Quite right. Mercy from me would be wasted 
on you just now. As you’ve chosen to make hay of 
our house, we’ll just take over yours till you have 
repaired the damage.” 

The Moor’s dark, strong face showed no change. 

“To the powerful the victory comes, so the poet 
writes. The others shall be trodden upon, and if 
well advised they will not writhe, and so shall es- 
cape unnecessary hurt.” 

“I don’t see where the poetry of that comes in,” 
said Kettle doubtfully, “but the sentiment is all 
right.” 

“If I have your high permission, I will show you 
the rooms of the house which are now yours.” 

“Walk on,” said Captain Kettle, and they all 
rose. 

But here the Moor did a surprising thing*. He got 
up, bowed meekly, went to the door, and opened it. 
He passed through it himself, turned with the agility 
of a monkey, and slammed it with such quickness, 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 


323 


that Kettle’s ready bullet merely ripped a row of 
white splinters from the wood. The bolts shot into 
their sockets as they threw themselves against the 
barrier, and the door did not even quiver to their 
weight. It was a fine thick door. 

They raged, all three of them, with furious 
wrath, but instinctively they all looked round the 
room. 

It was a perfect trap. It was a bare white cube 
of a place, with one door, and three small windows 
set in high embrasures, so deep and so narrow that 
even the Southern Moroccan sun could only fill the 
room with a twilight. Heavy iron bars guarded 
these windows, and even while they made their in- 
spection, shutters were clapped-to outside. Hadj 
Mohammed was a man who wasted no time. 

But Captain Owen Kettle also was a fellow of in- 
finite resource. To use his own phrase he was sav- 
age enough to have bitten into a cold chisel at the 
idea of being caught in such a trap, and he went 
step-stnmping round the room, with every faculty 
strained to the uttermost. 

“That old buck will keep us here to die of thirst,” 
said McTodd. “It’s a death,” he added thought- 
fully, “I’ve never contemplated since coming to my 
present degree of affluence.” 

“Much more likely,” said Fenner, “to blow char- 


324- LIMITED FREE TRADE. 

coal fumes in from somewhere, and cook us that 
way.” 

“Dying be sugared,” snapped Kettle. “I’m going 
to get out and twist Hadj Mohammed’s tail. Look 
here. The floor’s soft down here. My peg sinks 
into it, and the plaster shells away. Find something 
to quarry with, and we’ll be through to the room 
below.” 

Each had a pocket knife, and they were promptly 
down on their knees, picking at the crumbling mor- 
tar. There was a six-inch layer of it, and then came 
the usual row of argan sticks, laid upon thicker 
baulks. These took longer to cut through, but once 
an opening was made, McTodd’s large hands were 
soon able to tear the whole fabric away piecemeal. 
Then one by one they dropped through a store-room 
at the courtyard level. 

Kettle was all for an immediate attack. He 
wished to find the man who had played this trick on 
them, and take prompt vengeance on him. But 
Fenner saw further ahead. 

“Confound this lime dust,” he coughed, “how it 
does make one choke! Look here, Skipper, we’ve 
gone through this once already. It would be aw- 
fully inconvenient if we had to kill Hadj Moham- 
med. It would be almost as bad if we were forced 
to shove him off his perch. But at the same time 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 


325 


we want to stop him from playing tricks on us once 
and for always.” 

“Yes, by James. That man seems to think he can 
keep his end up against me, and he’s going to be 
shown where his error comes in.” 

“Well, wait a bit, and Ell show you a way it can 
be done effectively, and without a fuss. The meth- 
od’s one I dislike, but there appears no other way 
for it. Look out over that bale, through the door- 
way, and into the garden. Who’s there?” 

“Hadj Mohammed’s little boy.” 

“He’s the nicest kid in Casadir, and he’s very fond 
of me, and I’m very fond of him. I’ve played with 
him many an hour. You know how jolly kids are?” 

“Mine are girls,” said the little sailor with a sigh. 
“But I can fancy that a man would be just as fond 
of his youngsters if they are boys.” 

“That one is all Hadj Mohammed’s got, since his 
other son died, and he’s just as proud of him as he 
can stick. Well, Skipper, we must take the boy as 
a hostage.” 

“Of course we shouldn’t hurt him under any cir- 
cumstances.” 

“Of course not; do you think I’m a cannibal? 
But the mere having him would ensure present good 
behavior on behalf of the Kaid. To keep his Excel- 
lency on the paths of virtue in the future, we must 


326 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 


pack the youngster off to England, and send him to 
a good sound school there.” 

“I don’t like getting at a man’s feelings through 
his children. You see, boy, I’ve kids of my own, 
and I’m more fond of them than you’re likely to 
guess.” 

“Do you think,” said Fenner with some temper, 
“that you are the only man in the world with natural 
affections? I hate doing it, as I said before, but 
there doesn’t seem any other way of pinning the 
Kaid. Besides, it will be for the boy’s good. He 
will be brought up as an English gentleman, instead 
of as a Moorish savage.” 

“Very well,” said Kettle reluctantly, “have it your 
own way, but you’re breaking out into a line I don’t 
quite like.” 

“And spoiling what promised to be a very neat 
scrap,” said McTodd. 

“Oh ! the deuce take the pair of you !” said Fen- 
ner disgustedly. But he called in the child, who came 
to him delightedly, with his plaited scalp-lock 
flowing out behind him. When Martin Fenner 
had decided on a policy he always carried it 
through, and left his own private tastes outside 
the bargain. 

With the child in their possession, they waited 
placidly till a slave came into the garden courtyard, 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 


327 


watering the flowers. Him they sent to fetch the 
Kaid, who came with promptness. 

Now Hadj Mohammed Bergash was no fool, and 
moreover, he loved his son — who was now his only 
child — more than all his other possessions, including 
his own life. He came down hurriedly, and stood 
in the doorway of the store-room. In a glance he 
saw how matters had rearranged themselves, and in 
a moment he made a decision as to what should be his 
action. Without a word the Sheik went on his 
knees, and with lowered head placed Captain Kettle’s 
one foot on his turban. Kettle smoked, but made 
no movement or comment. But there was satis- 
faction in the cock of his beard. 

“If the father breaks faith,” said Fenner, “the son 
must pay.” 

“Then,” said the Kaid, “for the future, my son’s 
life is safe.” 

“The Excellency McTodd sails to-morrow for 
England with a loaded steamer. The boy goes with 
him, and there shall be well tended, and shall gain 
the learning and skill of the English. So when it 
comes his turn to rule, he shall be well equipped.” 

“If he is there taught to forget that Allah is Allah, 
and that He has but one prophet, then would I rather 
my son should die before he left Casadir.” 

“He shall remain Muslim ” 


323 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 


“Ahem,” interrupted Kettle. “Unless the claims 
of the Wharfedale Particular Methodists ” 

“I give you my word of honor, Kaid, the boy shall 
not have his faith interfered with, so long as you 
remain true to us.” 

“Oh,” snarled Kettle, “let the brat remain damned 
if you prefer it. Arrange the matter to suit your- 
selves. I was only offering him a sound, sure 
thing.” 

“Remains to settle the matter of these French and 
Germans,” said Fenner. 

“You shall have their heads delivered on your 
carpet,” protested the Kaid eagerly, “this very af- 
ternoon.” 

“Not so. The action would cause too much grief 
to their friends at home, and more warships would 
come than we could conveniently argue with. But 
your subjects here in Casadir must do no trade with 
them, and then presently they will depart.” 

“From every Moorish trader, O Excellency-with- 
the-great-nose, who sells to these men as much as a 
skin of oil, I will lop the hands, and nail them above 
his door as a warning. And if a Jehudi tries it, I 
will take the hide off him and stuff it with straw.” 

“Well,” said Fenner thoughtfully, “we will ar- 
range the proper form repressive measures ought to 
take afterward. But I see you have got hold 


LIMITED FREE TRADE. 329 

of the right idea. You have my permission to 
depart.” 

Hadj Mohammed Bergash went out into the gar- 
den then, but Captain Owen Kettle sat where he 
was on a bale, and pulled at his pointed red beard 
with some annoyance. “Dash !” he said. “You’ve 
had your own way, boy, but I don’t think I alto- 
gether like it. I don’t see what’s wrong with Kaid 
Kettle as a title. It goes well, and, by James, I 
could have filled the ticket as well as any man living.” 

“But think,” said McTodd, “once you’ve learnt 
your steps, you’ll be able to wear your handsomely 
inlaid leg every day with perfect security. We that 
are now so wealthy ought to get rid of the desire 
for scrapping, and cultivate more taste for ornament. 
I think myself I shall get the diamond ring that Jew 
recommended, if I can pick up an imitation one, 
cheap.” 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE LAST ADVENTURE OF CAPTAIN KETTLE. 

Captain Kettle wedged himself more tightly 
into the settee, and jammed the toe of his wooden 
leg against a batten in the chart-house floor. 

“The old packet has got a roll on her and that’s 
a fact,” said Mr. McTodd. “And it’s breezing up. 
Let’s be thankful that you and I are passengers, and 
not aboard in offeecial positions. I bet those ducks 
down in the engine-room are half scared out of their 
greasy lives every time she races. The condition of 
the thrust-blocks is just scandalous.” 

“We’ve cut it fine on repairs, I’ll admit,” said 
Kettle. “And, besides, the old Frying-pan's never 
been what you might call a new ship ever since 
we’ve known her. I can picture Captain Walkfield’s 
anxiety,” he added with a sigh. 

“But man Kettle, we’re not responsible now, that’s 
where the humor comes in. It’s Walkfield and the 
engine-room staff that are responsible now if we’re 
all drowned, and you and I are just bloated pas- 
sengers. That’s what tickles me. But you were 
saying? ” 


330 


KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 


331 


“1 was telling you the gentleman’s name is Hun- 
ter, and Mrs. Kettle writes me that he’s a stuff mer- 
chant in Bradford, a very respectable occupation.” 

“Which daughter?” asked McTodd, relighting 
the stump of his cigar. 

“Eldest.” 

“But I thought she was engaged to a young fel- 
low named well, it wasn’t Hunter. I mind ye 

read me out the letter which brought the announce- 
ment one morning in Casadir after old Kaid Ber- 
gash had sent me and Fenner a present of poisoned 
cous cousoo.” 

“Well,” snapped the little sailor, “I’ll not deny 
that my girl’s been asked before, and had three en- 
gagements that have dangled. But she’s getting 
on a bit now, and it’s time (so the Missis writes) 
that she was settled. The fellow’s no chicken, 
either, from what I gather. He has been running 
after four different girls a year ever since he grew 
a mustache, and so should have experience enough 
to make a valuable husband.” 

“He sounds a slippery one.” Mr. McTodd rubbed 
his grimy hands. “Man, you’ll no’ think it, but I’ve 
been slippery wi’ the weemin mysel’. Gosh! if 
Walkfield lets her go on rolling in the trough like 
this, he’ll shake the funnel out of her next. It used 
to be landladies’ daughters wi’ me, then it was 


332 KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 

theatricals, and then it was landladies. My latest 
was a weedow — Scottish. I’m thinking it was my 
enormous wealth she was after; but anyway, she 
gave me much flattery, and I enjoyed it. I mind one 
very humorous scene between us in a hansom cab. 
We’d just come out of the Trocadero 

“You dissolute mechanic! I’ll thank you not to 
compare a daughter of mine with any woman who’d 
walk out with you in a public place like that.” 

“But, man, where’s the harm in taking your lady 
friends to see a barmaid ? It’s a barmaid you mar- 
ried yourself.” 

“Mrs. Kettle,” said her husband stiffly, “was a 
lady of good family, though once in reduced cir- 
cumstances. She was a clergyman’s daughter — 
Congregational. It’s her direct wish that all allu- 
sion to her former business occupation should be 
avoided, and if she says a thing like that, I’m the 
man to see it carried out. So if any son of a dog 
wants to know exactly what broken ribs feel like, 
he’s just to bring up that subject, and I’ll show him 
in two twinkles.” 

The engineer winked a malicious eye, and would 
probably have continued the conversation, but just 
then, in one of her heavier lurches, the Frying-pan 
took a sea green and solid over her bridge deck, and 
the house was buried in an avalanche of roaring, 


KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 


333 


spouting, raging water. It squelched in above the 
doorcombings, it poured in a solid stream through 
the roof ventilator, and when outside it had drained 
away, there remained within a private lake, lively 
with the manoeuvres of a fleet of shoes and camp 
stools. 

“Very humorous,” said McTodd, tucking up his 
legs. “Imagine Walkfield’s anxiety, and him a man 
of no nerve. He’ll be getting at the whiskey bottle 
presently.” 

“He’ll not dare with me on board.” Kettle 
squinted up at the hanging compass. “He’s eight 
points off his course, as it is. I think he’d be well 
advised to put her head on to it a bit more, and risk 
the engines racing. But it’s not for me to in- 
terfere.” 

“Speaking just as a passenger, I’ve a mind that if 
those engines have an opportunity to race thor- 
oughly, about twice and no more, they’ll break down 
permanently in six different places. It’s splendid to 
think of those ducks down in the engine-room sweat- 
ing and straining for their dear lives, and thinking 
of new swears between whiles. Eh, man Kettle, 
expeerience is a fine thing when you’re lying lux- 
uriously at ease like this, and want to picture the 
'depths from which yer talents have digged ye — I’ll 
trouble ye for matches. Mine’s soaked.” 


334 


KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 


Again the Frying-pan took it green over the top 
of her superstructure, and again the drench of yeasty 
water roared over the chart-house, and squirted 
noisily through ventilators and crevices. 

“There’s a heavy breeze and that’s a fact,” 
grumbled Kettle. “And there’s far too bad a sea 
running to monkey with. I want to get home to see 
my girl married to this Hunter, and if this goes on 
I’m afraid I shan’t. I wish Walkfield had a bit more 
nerve and a lot more brain. Being just a bally 
passenger ” 

“It would be most unprofessional of you to sup- 
ply them. Man, it’s splendidly comical for both of 
us. It’s like reading Punch; there’s a lot of wit 
spread about if you can only find it.” 

Captain Kettle bit on the stump of a cold, wet 
cigar, and presently, finding the stump of a pencil 
and a piece of limp white paper among the swirl of 
oddments on the floor, betook himself to that making 
of verse which had brought him consolation in the 
midst of so many former difficulties. McTodd 
chuckled over his thoughts. It was quite an hour 
later that Captain Walkfield looked in upon them. 

The man was obviously in liquor, and indeed made 
no attempt to conceal it. “Well,” he said, “I guess 
we’re booked. The old Frying-pan will take us to 
Jones in another hour unless the weather eases, and 


KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 


335 


there’s no signs of that. I always did say it was a 
cold job dying sober, and I daresay you’ve thought 
the same yourself, old cock.” 

This last was addressed to Kettle, and that small 
mariner stood upright with a sudden jerk. 

“By James, do you know you’re addressing your 
owner? Where’s your proper respect? D’you 
think that’s the way to speak to your superiors, you 
half-baked scum of a Newport coal-shoot? By 
dash, your collar’s as rotten as the rest of you. Is 
there no part of your useless carcass that isn’t too 
limp for me to handle?” 

From the other settee there came a chuckle. 
“Man Kettle, but it’s most unprofessional for a mere 
passenger to get handling the skipper.” 

“You shut your head, or I’ll clean the floor with 
you, too. Look at this thing that used to be called 
Walkfield until I took it in hand and altered it. 
Just think that it carries a full master’s ticket, and 
the hands have to touch hats to it, and speak of it 
as the Old Man. Why, I could make a better ship- 
master out of Node’s ‘Epitome’ and a handful of 
putty.” 

“Don’t throw it round any more,” suggested Mc- 
Todd, “or you’ll wreck the deck-house. I think it’s 
quite dead now. Better sling it overboard.” 

“You let me alone,” groaned a very disheveled 


336 KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 

Captain Walkfield from the corner by the wash- 
stand. “I’ve done my best, and if we are to be 
drowned it’s your fault. The old packet’s under- 
manned and underfound in every way.” 

Again Kettle turned fiercely against him. “As if 
that was any argument. Steamers are run to pay, 
not to make private yachts for their skippers. What 
ship, I should like to know, ever had enough men of 
a crew, or all the repairs she indented for, unless 
she was a man-of-war? A skipper’s hired because 
he’s supposed to have brains clever enough and 
hands strong enough to make up those deficiencies. 
I’ve spent a whole lifetime doing it, so I know. But 
you, you whiskey-tinctured jellyfish ” 

Once more the sodden steamer rolled her bridge 
deck under, and this time, as Walkfield had left the 
chart-house door open behind him, the sea came in 
green and solid, filling the place with violent water. 
In due time they emerged from this, spluttering and 
profane, and, in Captain Walkfield’s case, hopeless. 

“There,” he said, “you can see for yourself. She 
can’t live much longer with the sea running.” 

“Get back to your work, you hound!” Kettle 
shouted at him. 

“I tell you it’s useless, and anyway I’m disabled. 
I believe you’ve broken me some ribs.” 

“Good,” said Kettle, “then if you tell me officially 


KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 


337 


you’re not fit to carry on duty, I’ll just step in as 
substitute” — the little man breathed pleasurably — 
"I’ve almost forgotten how to handle a crew,” he 
said, as he went out on deck, “but I daresay it will 
come back to me.” 

“Cocky little fool !” snarled Walkfield. 

“You shut your blasted head,” said McTodd po- 
litely, “or I’ll throw your twaddling carcass into the 
ditch. There’s only one man I allow to abuse Cap- 
tain Kettle, and that’s mysel’. You can stay here 
in the chart-house and get washed sober. If any 
one calls in to inquire, you may say I’ve gone to the 
engine-room to get a smell of warmth, and watch 
those ducks down there at work.” 

Out on deck the prospect was cheerless enough. 
The steamer was in the Bay, and Biscay weather 
was at its worst. The gale blew with hungry vio- 
lence, and the great crested seas that drove before it 
stumbled and snarled, till all order of their charge 
was lost, and they fled in confused rout. Their tops 
were whipped off by the wind, and blew in a gray 
smother that was almost as solid as the water itself. 

Captain Kettle introduced himself to the dejected 
mates and the scared deckhands in a method pe- 
culiarly his own, and though he did not perhaps con- 
vince them that the Frying-pan would eventually 
escape swamping, at any rate he demonstrated to 


338 


KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 


them that they were not drowned yet, and were still 
capable of appreciating pain and indignities as ad- 
ministered by himself. It took him a good hour to 
bring about this new phase of discipline, but once 
it was established, he directed a very sore and angry 
crew to set up extra funnel stays, to replace the tar- 
paulins on number two hatch, and to clear away the 
wreckage of the after wheel-house, which was doing 
its best to jam the steering-gear. 

At the end of this time a very composed McTodd 
clawed away up to him on the reeling upper bridge, 
and bawled in his ear above the howl of the gale, 
“Man, but even you’d laugh if you’d step down into 
yon engine-room. They’re steaming on one boiler 
now. They’ve cut the other out. It’s adrift. You 
can see it gather more way ever time she rolls, and 
presently it will wrench itself clear of seacocks and 
steampipes and all its connections.” 

“Will it go through the ship’s side?” 

“It might or it mightn’t, though I’m a full be- 
liever in the rottenness of everything on board. But 
whether it rolls out through her ribs into the At- 
lantic, or whether it stays in its steps, makes very lit- 
tle difference to the professional feelings of yon 
crowd in the engine-room. Ye’re a layman your- 
self, and cannot understand these niceties, but I may 
indicate that to be pointed out in any barroom (if 


KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 339 

you chance to survive) as an engineer that’s had his 
boilers adrift is very injurious to the -finer sen- 
timents.” 

“I care not one jot for their feelings/’ said Kettle 
violently. “The black gang on this packet seem 
just as incompetent as the deck crowd. You’d bet- 
ter take over charge yourself.” 

“It would be most revolutionary. The chief here 
has read all the books that were ever written, and 
he’s certificates enough to fill the low press cylinder. 
Now I don’t carry a chief’s certificate. That blighted 
Board of Trade refused me one. They did not suf- 
ficiently admire my spelling.” 

“Mac,” said Kettle, looking him in the eyes, “if I 
didn’t know you to be the most able man in the ship, 
do you think I should ask you to interfere? Be- 
sides, it’s a special case. I’ve lived hard; latterly 
I’ve made money; and now I want to get home to 
the farm, and see the Missis and my girls again. 
And there’s another thing. There’s a chapel up 
there in Wharfedale of which I am boss. I started 
it; I worked out a new kind of creed; and if I got 
home again I believe I could add to the congregation. 
It would be just maddening to drown out here with- 
out a chance.” 

“D’ye think you’re the only man with ambition? 
Here’s me just ravening to display my wealth in 


340 


KETTLE'S LAST ADVENTURE. 


Ballindrochater. It’s where I was born, and it’s a 
place that hitherto I have not distinguished myself 
in. If I get home, I’m going to have a public dinner 
given me in Ballindrochater, though I have to pay 
for it mysel’. It’s a thing I’ve been figuring on for 
years.” 

But to cure the errant boiler was a task beyond 
even Mr. N. A. McTodd’s vigor. The gale hard- 
ened down into something very nearly approaching 
a hurricane, and the run of the sea grew more terri- 
ble. The loose boiler threatened every moment to 
take charge, and to ease it of its own weight of water 
they ran the scalding contents out into the stokehold. 
The fires were drenched, the ship out of all steam 
command. On deck Kettle hove her to with a sea 
anchor of derricks and a swamped boat — and lost 
three men, crushed to death or washed overboard 
in the process. Below — with all his bilge pumps out 
of action — McTodd arranged bucket gangs to bale 
the engine-room and stokeholds clear by hand. 

The steamer was old and tender, and through 
many a long year concrete had been applied to her 
internally to stop leaks. Her rolling and bucking 
and plunging among the seas loosened much of this, 
and already before steam gave out the bilge pumps 
had been running to their full capacity in dealing 
with the leaks. With the bilge pumps standing, it 


KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 341 


was more than the buckets could do with the utter- 
most strain to keep these inrushes in check. 

The men worked with that frenzied energy whicH 
men can put out when their own lives hang on their 
efforts. Mr. McTodd was here, there and every- 
where, encouraging them to do a little more than 
their best; and occasionally he assisted his tuition 
with a three-quarter inch spanner. The mates and 
the deckhands all worked at this intolerable baling. 
Captain Owen Kettle stumped about the bridge deck, 
or sat in the chart-house watching the .ship, and at- 
tending briskly to his duties as her master when 
occasion arose. 

For a night and a day this terrible work went on, 
and by degrees the weather eased; but human en- 
durance has its limits, and the baling eased also. 
There was no question of getting fires again in the 
remaining boiler’s furnaces. There were ten feet of 
water in the stokehold — and — it was not diminish- 
ing. Rivets were out all over her, and there was a 
weep round the lap-joints of every plate. There 
was no blinking the fact that she was gradually 
settling. 

Of her four boats two had been stove in davits, 
and then swept away by the seas ; one made part of 
the sea anchor and was wrecked beyond repair; one 
alone remained seaworthy. This last Kettle meas- 


342 KETTLE'S LAST ADVENTURE. 

ured, and then made thoughtful calculation. She 
was built as a lifeboat, with air-lockers, and at the 
utmost would carry seventeen people. There were 
twenty-one souls on board. 

Then he went into the chart-house again and ex- 
amined the glass. It had risen since the last gale, 
and now it was steadily sinking. 

“Ah, well,” he said, “there’s no wriggling out of it 
this trip.” 

He opened a drawer and pulled out notepaper. 
He tore off twenty narrow slips, and seventeen of 
these he marked with a big blue pencilled B. Then 
he folded these separately, and threw them into Cap- 
tain Walkfield’s shore-going felt hat. 

When the hands assembled on the bridge deck 
some five minutes later, they showed no surprise at 
being ordered to leave the ship. For one thing they 
were too numbed with weariness for any great dis- 
play of emotion, and for another it was obvious that 
such an order must come sooner or later. They 
dipped for seats in the boat, and those that drew a B 
out of the hat showed no undue elation, and those 
that picked the blanks took their luck stolidly. 

A knot of men cast off the awning lacings of the 
boat; two threw out her davit tackles and over- 
hauled them; the rest ran to the galley and pantries, 
collecting scraps of food and bottles of water. 


KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 


343 


“I’m sorry for these ducks we must leave behind,” 
said McTodd, who had drawn a seat. 

“ We’re obliged to you for your kind sympathy,” 
said Kettle. 

“You! But, man, you’re not going to stay. 
You’re rich. Your life’s of value. You’re never 
going to chuck it away.” 

“I’ve got to stand by the ship.” 

“Rubbish. Ye’re a passenger. It’s the duty of 
all passengers to be saved first thing.” 

“I was a passenger, but my nasty bossing way 
got the better of me as usual. If I’d remained a 
passenger a seat in that boat would have been mine 
by rights, and I’d have it if I had to break up half 
the hands to get there. But I didn’t know when I 
was well off. I fired Walkfield and made myself 
skipper in his place, and, by James, skipper I’ve got 
to be, and I must stand by the old packet while there’s 
any one else left on her. There’s another reason, 
too, why I didn’t draw. Gambling’s distinctly 
frowned upon by the Wharfedale Particular 
Methodists.” 

The engineer drew a face of dismay. 

“Your releegious objections to a flutter I con- 
sider just absurd. But you’re sound about what’s 
due from a skipper. Man, I’m awful sorry to lose 
ye, but there’s no choice.” 


344 


KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTUKE. 


“No,” said Kettle, “no choice. There, hurry, 
man, and get down into that boat, or those tailors 
will have her stove against the ship’s side, and we 
shall all be in the soup.” 

The engineer boarded the leaping boat, and the 
others joined him. She was cast off, and a wave 
spurned her from the ship’s side. A mast was 
stepped and a rag of a sail hoisted, and away she 
drove with frightened haste before the rising gale. 

One last glance of Captain Kettle they had as the 
steamer bowed over the flank of a sea, and her chart- 
house was displayed to them through its doorway. 
Captain Kettle, with his wooden leg wedged against 
a deck cleat, sat on one of the settees. A great cigar 
was smoking in his mouth. A paper block was on 
his knee, and he was writing rapidly. There was a 
certain grim look of satisfaction on his face, that 
was carried out even in the truculent cock of his red 
torpedo beard. 

The news of the steamer’s loss received scarcely 
so much as a paragraph’s notice at first in the Eng- 
lish papers. But presently there arrived in England 
from Morocco a certain Mr. Martin Fenner, who 
straightway foregathered with a mournful McTodd. 
They had their talk, a pitiful sorrowing talk of old 
times, and then Fenner said: “I shan’t go back to 


KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 


345 


Casadir. I haven’t the heart to. I liked Kettle 
more than any one else on earth, I think.” 

“Me too. He was a good little beggar.’ I shan’t 
go back either. It will be a pity. Kaid Bergash 
will lose his stiffening without us, and then the Sul- 
tan of Morocco will come down and cut off every 
head that wags in the Sus country, and all our 
work will go for nothing except the sordid dollar 
making.” 

Fenner rubbed at his great beak of a nose. “No, 
I’m hanged if that brute of a Sultan shall clip in 
now. We at least owe that to Kettle’s memory. 
His work is good enough to be made permanent. 
England’s strong just at present, and she’s nothing- 
on hand. By gad, I’ll work the Government to pro- 
claim a protectorate over the districts” 

Now, “working the Government” is not a thing 
to be done in a moment, because governments have 
a fine sense of their own dignity, and are not apt 
to move with any haste. But, as Fenner said, even 
the Press could have its uses, and here was one of 
them. 

Their previous exploits in the Sus country had 
been ignored, or merely stigmatized as piratical. 
But Fenner got hold of an interviewer and explained 
them picturesquely. He lived at the Cecil, and was 
readily accessible to any pressman who cared to 


346 


KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 


call ; and as he exuded good copy for the asking, the 
pressmen called in numbers. 

Through this medium, then, the British public 
were informed of the pit from which Southern Mo- 
rocco had been digged, of the pleasant prosperity 
to which it had ascended, and the blight of the Sul- 
tan with which it was now threatened. Fenner 
talked of Kettle with an appreciative tongue. There 
was a man of genius, a man of brazen bravery,, a 
man of infinite tact and organizing power — in fact, 
an Empire builder! Moreover, he was a man who 
did not advertise. 

And the public were quick to catch at this fact 
and applaud it. Advertisers they had always with 
them. But such men as this Kettle are very rare. 
From being an unknown adventurer, Captain Owen 
Kettle suddenly leapt into being talked of as one of 
the most eminent constructive politicians of the cen- 
tury. Men turned up army lists to find his regi- 
ment. Ladies wore a Kettle button as a brooch. 
All mourned his untimely cutting off. 

A sculptor, struck by a happy idea, modeled in 
clay a '‘Captain O. Kettle” brandishing a sword (one 
of the few weapons he had never touched) and ap- 
parently leading on troops. It was the hit of a good 
Academy. 

Of the man himself only one further message 


KETTLES LAST ADVENTURE. 


347 


came in. A bottle thrown up beside the red rocks 
on a Biarritz beach held some mildewed paper, with 
the writing almost obliterated. Two lines alone 
could be distinguished: 

“And wayward fortune thus did settle 
Captain the Revd. Owen Kettle.” 

This was suppressed ; his taste for poetry was not 
mentioned, and, indeed, many of the little mariner’s 
other traits shared the same oblivion; he appeared 
only as a strong man, the unappreciated man, the 
neglected man. A Kettle cult arose, which deplored 
the fact so great, so wonderful a life could have 
been passed in the quiet shelter of obscurity. On 
the de mortuis principle none of his many faults were 
remembered. It was only his virtues that were re- 
counted. 

Thus daily his halo grew, and presently a move- 
ment was set afoot to cast the Academy statue in 
bronze, and have it set up in one of London’s thor- 
oughfares. The idea was kept hot; an enthusiast 
promised to defray the cost ; a committee was formed 
and approached a Cabinet Minister as to a site. 

Now a psychological moment then just arrived, 
and it suited the Government to yield to public 
clamor. They “acceded to the urgent prayer” of 


348 


KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 


the Kaid of Sus (who had so recently made himself 
an independent potentate), and in view of the large 
number of British subjects residing in his Highness’s 
dominions, they proclaimed a British protectorate 
over the country. 

Accurately, the British subjects in Casadir and in 
all the Sus country at that particular moment con- 
sisted of some ten or thirteen Gibraltar scorpions. 
But these were enough for diplomatic purposes, and 
the patriotism of the Government was acclaimed by 
a delighted country. 

The Colonial Secretary, brimming with enthu- 
siasm for himself, received the Kettle Statue Com- 
mittee (with their attendant train of reporters) and 
delivered himself of an important and epoch-making 
speech, which an hour later was buzzing over the 
wires to every capital in Europe. 

At the end, and, in fact, like a lady’s postscript, 
he alluded to the point that had brought them to- 
gether. The permanent officials had informed him 
that there was strong precedent why His Majesty’s 
Government could not grant permission to erect the 
statue of this noble Empire-builder as desired. No 
one regretted this decision more than himself, but 
there was the precedent, and it must be abided by. 
As a solace he might say that, had Captain Kettle 
fortunately survived, he would have felt it his ob- 


KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 349 

vious duty to have recommended such a national 
benefactor to His Majesty as a Knight Commander 
of the Bath. 

The papers, one and all, reported this almost ver- 
batim next morning ; one even went so far as to head 
its column: “The late Sir Owen Kettle K.C.B.” 
All the Britons proclaimed the justice of the promo- 
tion, and if the Continental Press did grow spiteful 
over the “decoration of another English pirate,” that 
(so thought his friends) would only make poor Ket- 
tle appreciate his honors all the more. 

And then on the crest of this wave of hero- 
worship, there was emitted on to these shores, 
by the help of a distressed mariner’s free pass, 
a spruce Captain Owen Kettle in the lean, spare 
flesh. 

The country of course shouted with joy, but their 
shouts were a trifle flat and forced. The man had 
been dead, and they had worshipped him. It would 
be embarrassing to any sect if all its saints returned 
to life. 

In very tense language the papers described the 
final sinking of that redoubtable steamer, the Frying- 
pan, the rescue of her remaining people by a four- 
masted sailing ship bound for Melbourne, and the 
subsequent disablement of this vessel by a tornado, 
which explained her lengthy voyage. The public 


350 KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 

took but a languid interest in it all, and in two days 
the subject lapsed. 

But the Colonial Secretary, to his honor be it said, 
remembered his word. The British Government is 
slow to move, but once it is pledged to any course, 

, either for good or evil, it usually keeps its promise. 
The red-tape knots were untied. The slow machin- 
ery of actual promotion was thrown in gear, and the 
clutch slid home. 

In the meanwhile, a joyful Kettle, preceded by 
telegrams, raced to Skipton, and over into Wharfe- 
dale, and as he told me himself (with a moist eye) 
the welcome of Mrs. Kettle and his daughters was 
worth the waiting for. It was long years since he 
had last seen the farm; through force of circum- 
stances his correspondence had been something of 
the most irregular ; but through all that weary exile 
he had been working with both eyes on them, and 
(low be it confessed), with very small thought for 
the welfare of the British Empire. It was only inci- 
dentally that the Empire had profited. 

But the wheels of promotion, if they were geared 
low, slipped no cogs. It was the morning of the 
eldest Miss Kettle’s marriage to Air. Hunter, of 
Bradford, that the massive blue envelope arrived, 
and it was a Lady Kettle who gave her daughter 
away, and a Rev. Sir Owen Kettle K.C.B. who 


KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 


351 


(with the assistance of a registrar) married them. 
Never before has the one and only chapel dedicated 
to the Wharfedale Particular Methodist faith seen 
such a glittering ceremony, and till the next Miss 
Kettle quits the maiden state it is not likely to see 
such another. 

There was a reception afterward at the farm, and 
Fenner, with a nose that was more masterful than 
ever, made a speech that was not all that could be 
desired. His own keen and hopeless desire for 
domestic joys led him sometimes into statements 
which were embarrassing. McTodd was there, also, 
and kept sober. Mr. McTodd had recently been 
made a freeman of Ballindrochater, and was much 
impressed with the honor, and with the cost and use- 
lessness of the free library which had procured it for 
him. 

So here we leave Sir Owen Kettle K.C.B., mas- 
ter mariner and pastor, in the odor of that home 
for which he had sighed during so many battling 
years, a man looked up to and respected, even by the 
many who disagree with most of his opinions. 

There is a colony of brown-headed gulls which 
breed in a scaur above the farm, and earn a livelihood 
in the fields, and in the shallows of the Wharfe. 
The mewings of these sometimes fall on the little 
sailor’s ears, and his eyes look on the distance, and 


352 


KETTLE’S LAST ADVENTURE. 


his mind goes to scenes far from Wharfedale, wild 
scenes, fierce scenes, where Strenuous men . . . 

Ah, well! 

But he has always a reserve of strength sufficient 
to pull himself from this violent past, and one touch 
of his wife’s hand is enough to bring him back again 
to pleasurable contentment. 


THE END. 













